


A Piece Of Sun

by jessebee



Series: Side-Slip [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin gives great hugs, Angst and Feels, Arguing, Brooding, Characters Talking Out Crap What Should Have Happened Sooner, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Force/Physical Training, Hugging, Implied/Reference Past Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Damage From Past Drug Use, M/M, Messy Emotional Splatters, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan's Hugs Are Not Too Bad Either, Pre-Slash, Qui-Gon Is Learning How, Qui-Gon Lives, Sequel, Severe Past Emotional Trauma, Shmi is a wonderful mom, The Fic What Ate My Brain, Unexplained Time Travel Shenanigans, because I said so, the Force works in mysterious ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: If, later on, Obi-Wan had been asked to describe that little space of time on Tatooine, after Qui-Gon Jinn had found and joined him and Anakin and Shmi, and before the rest of the galaxy came crashing back in, he supposed he'd have to say it was exhausting, exhilarating, painful, glorious, and confusing asshaavit.





	1. The Path Of Water

_I have seen from my window_  
_the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops._  
_Sometimes a piece of sun_  
_burned like a coin in my hand._

_ Pablo Neruda  _

 

 

 

 

“No matter how incomprehensible one's life becomes, it can always get more interesting.”

_Obi-Wan Kenobi_

 

* * *

**Prologue**

 

If, later on, Obi-Wan had been asked to describe that little space of time on Tatooine, after Qui-Gon Jinn had found and joined him and Anakin and Shmi, and before the rest of the galaxy came crashing back in, he supposed he'd have to say it was exhausting, exhilarating, painful, glorious, and confusing as _shaavit_.

 

*

 

Qui-Gon slipped himself into the ratty weave of Mos Espa life quickly and fairly quietly, as one more marooned drifter with a hard-luck life-story that no one gave enough of a _kriff_ about to question. He was “interested” in the slave Shmi Skywalker and maybe Shmi was “interested” back, in her quiet way. Although since he was squatting in one of the tinier unused hovels in Slave Row, the neighbors were debating whether he and Shmi were actually fucking because sweet as she was, Shmi was nobody's actual pushover.

Or maybe it was the drug addict Ben Lars (“sorry, _former_ addict, oh _certainly”_ ) that Qui S’War was doing: they spent enough time together. And why had Shmi and her young son Anakin taken that spice-head under their wing earlier on, anyway?

Everybody knew Ben was crazy – his spiced-out ravings would make a fantastic holodrama – but hey, that wide mouth of his was good for other things, too. Wasn’t like the kid could go home, rumor had it – the Lars homestead was days away, out past Mos Eisley, past Anchorhead even, and Cliegg Lars was a bitter old bastard even by Tatooine standards. Ben wasn’t the first or last being to buy a meal and a bed with his body.

That Watto had tolerated Ben Lars hanging around his salvage yard had been explained by Ben's deft touch with things mechanical – when he wasn't _sp_ _urged_ out of his mind, anyway. And the Toydarian didn't much care that Ben was effectively living with his slaves, either – as long as everybody understood that there'd be no extra credits to feed an extra mouth.

Why the Sithhells he let S'War hang around was less clear, until the day the big Human dissuaded one of the local sneaks from thieving the salvage yard, saving the beat-up swoop bike that Anakin and Ben had been working on and Anakin's latest pod engines as well. “S'Woodoo” some wit dubbed the tall man after that, after the large, lumbering, bird-ish denizen of the outer deserts, and the name stuck.

 

*

 

Anakin heard about the new moniker in fairly short order and bristled at it. Qui-Gon, however, merely noted that to be labeled after a creature known to be non-aggressive but fierce and unyielding in defense, particularly of nest and young, was not actually a bad thing.

It pulled Anakin up short, and the boy wandered off soon after with a thoughtful look on his face. Shmi smiled, and Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan fell in love with Qui-Gon Jinn all over again.

Not that four decades had ever done much more than mute the edges of those feelings, anyway.

But it hadn’t mattered “before,” had it, not in any critical way. Because Qui-Gon had been _gone_ , removed to a place where Obi-Wan’s attachment to him had created no pull, had been no temptation.

But now?

Now it was a whole new game of _dejarik_ , and Obi-Wan Had A Feeling – somewhere between exaltation and stark, staring panic – that the rules of play had changed.

 

* * *

**The Path Of Water**

 

“ _S_ _olah_. Again.”

Qui-Gon released him and stepped back. “Better, Padawan,” he said. “You continue to improve.”

_Like hel_ _ls_ _,_ Obi-Wan nearly retorted, but settled instead for collapsing flat on his back in the sand. “Up – from nothing – isn’t very far,” he gasped, working to regulate his breathing.

“It is up, nevertheless,” Qui-Gon said, dropping a sweat-cloth on Obi-Wan’s heaving chest before folding down neatly on the ground next to him, wiping his own brow and neck. Of course, the man was barely breathing hard. “It goes as the Force and your body allow, and that is as much as we can ask for. Truly, you are doing well.”

“Considering – how bad of shape – I’m in? Yes.”

Mopping his own face, Obi-Wan didn’t notice Qui-Gon move until his master rapped him on the leg. He looked over then and saw that Qui-Gon was wearing the Eyebrow Of Masterly Reproach, and groaned. “All right, all right. I’ll stop.”

That won him a nod and a gentler pat on the thigh.

After a few minutes, Obi-Wan heaved himself upright with stomach muscles and a touch of Force, pleased when the manipulation worked just as he wanted it to, and took the container of water Qui-Gon handed him.

The morning was calm, still, in the way only very early mornings in the desert were, the night-creatures settled in to escape the day’s heat and the day-creatures not yet roaming. No visible life other than the two of them in this narrow canyon where they came to practice; no sounds save their own breathing and the endless, nearly inaudible shifting of the sands. The air smelled of dry stone and their own sweat, and the tang of lubricant and fuel from the nearby swoop bike.

In the years he’d lived here “before,” Obi-Wan had grown to appreciate if not exactly love this morning time. He’d adopted the Tatoo habit of split sleep, drowsing through some of the night and some of the mid-day when the suns were too fierce for anything with actual brains to be out and about.

He’d usually risen with the dawn back on Coruscant to meditate, a habit that he’d gotten from his master, kept through much of his own life and passed on to Anakin, although not without his padawan’s regular complaints. Despite growing up on Tatooine, Anakin had very much liked sleeping _in_ in the mornings, thank you.

It seemed, though, that rising early was an essentially 'Qui-Gon' trait that dream-training a padawan in this timeline had not appreciably changed. And truly, before first dawn was the best time for the two of them to slip out and away into the wastes surrounding Mos Espa, for Obi-Wan’s now regular sessions of being knocked less than gracefully on his arse.

Although at least, being this exhausted, he didn't have to worry about his twenty-year-old body embarrassing him in another _,_ particular way.

And he was getting better. He was. Now he just had to make himself believe that he would be good enough, _soon_ _enough –_

“Trust in the Force, Padawan.”

Shielding. _Kriff._ How much had he leaked? At least he couldn't blush any more than he already had from the exercise. “Sorry,” Obi-Wan said on a long sigh. “My control isn't what it ought to be yet.”

“No, I don't think that's actually the problem.”

What? Obi-Wan blinked at him, still seeing him through the Force to compensate for the lack of light.

Qui-Gon wore a considering expression on his craggy face. “Your control is superb, Obi-Wan. I truly know Masters who do not have the same levels of fine manipulation that you do, nor the elegant layers of shielding.  Control in itself is not the problem. From what I see and sense, I believe the real issue is exhaustion.”

“Exhaustion?” Obi-Wan blinked again. “But that shouldn't – ”

Qui-Gon nodded. “I agree, it should not. Or not like this. Physical tiredness does affect control, of course, but yours is far too mature and centered to be affected to anywhere near this extent. Which leaves me with the theory that it may have to do with – your history of spice ingestion.”

Obi-Wan gaped at him. And then what Qui-Gon was actually saying registered.

Oh, Sithdamned, bantha-kissing Spawn. Of. A. _**Hutt**_.

He closed his eyes and continued to swear, fervently and at length; leaned his head back and continued the motion until he landed flat on his back again in the coarse sand.

When he'd indulged his frustration long enough, he released it and his fear to the Force, and opened his eyes to find Qui-Gon still studying him, looking both amused and impressed.

“Your vocabulary has become well-traveled, Padawan. Of all the creative streams of invective I've heard over the years, and I have heard many, that – ” Qui-Gon said, eyebrows raised, “ – was most definitely in the top five.”

That's right, Obi-Wan had kept his proficiency in profanity subdued around both his master and his own padawan, hadn’t he?

“My pleasure to be of service,” Obi-Wan said sourly, and sat up again, grimacing freely this time when his stomach muscles complained. “Sweet gods below. That theory makes entirely too much sense. I knew there was physical damage done but I couldn't really tell what kind, or how much. When I first – woke up, I could barely feel the Force at all. That's gotten better, but, what if – ?”

He met Qui-Gon's eyes and had to look away again, at the canyon wall. He swallowed against the lump trying to close his throat, tasting sour at the back of his tongue. “Gods.” ~ _What if_ _I'm – if_ _my connection to the Force is permanently damaged?_ _If_ I _am permanently damaged?_ _What if_ _I've broken something that can't – ?_ ~

“Stop.” His Master's voice, soft and deep, commanding attention.

“Now you listen to me, Padawan. You are not something to be 'fixed,' because you are not _broken_. If you are changed from what you knew before, then you shall find a different path, and I will help you as much as I am able.”

Obi-Wan shut his eyes, but warm hands cupped his face. Qui-Gon's hands, big and callused. Powerful. Yet so careful, holding Obi-Wan like he was something precious. Something worthy.

When was the last time Obi-Wan had felt like that, truly? He couldn't remember.

“Look at me.”

Nor could he refuse that voice, that touch, the affection washing their bond. He couldn’t help but mentally lean, just a little, against the banked power of his teacher’s aura, the unshakable _presence_ of him, that _deep well Force calm:_ the grounding bulwark that Obi-Wan had still achingly missed for long, long years after he’d convinced himself he no longer needed it.

After Obi-Wan himself had become the pillar against which so many others had leaned.

“Better,” Qui-Gon said. “Water, Obi-Wan. Remember the lesson of water.”

Easiest thing ever, looking into those astoundingly blue eyes.

“Think about water. _Be_ water. Water is patient and relentless. Eventually water will find the way, or make a way if there is not one. Water may be slow, but it will not be stopped.”

He released Obi-Wan's face and gripped his shoulders instead. “Trust in the Force. If you cannot go through, go around.”

How perfectly Qui-Gon, to turn this into a teachable moment as though Obi-Wan was still actually the padawan he appeared to be. Eventually that might well become tiresome, but right now?

Now it was still far, far too precious. “I've _missed_ you, Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan said huskily, and never mind what Yoda said about this kind of feeling being too close to greed. “I really have.”

But nothing of disapproval flavored Qui-Gon's Force-presence. He just smiled, the closed-mouth one that wrinkled up beneath his eyes and warmed his whole face. “I have wished for your presence as well, even when you are as troublesome as you warned me you might be.”

That surprised a laugh out of Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulders and let him go. “Speaking of things missed, perhaps we are not too late for firstmeal. With luck, Anakin has overslept and left us some.”

“You know, I'm _sure_ that I remember you telling me that there's no such thing as luck.”

His teacher merely gave him a serenely innocent look that Obi-Wan didn't believe for a moment and climbed easily to his feet, and extended a hand to pull Obi-Wan up.

 

* * *


	2. Relearning The Known

 

 

“I'd really rather be out sparring with you two,” Anakin groused.

Obi-Wan leaned back, carefully, in his chair. “Even if it means getting up earlier?” he teased, dirtware mug held securely in both hands. He was sore but pleasantly so, the aches those of well-worked young muscles and tendons rather than those of a sixty-year-old body battered by war and a subsistence life. Those, he didn't miss at all.

The hovel's main room was still morning-cool and smelled pleasantly of firstmeal. Across the table from him sat Qui-Gon, just polishing his plate, fresh from the sonic shower and dressed as usual in his familiar, worn beige tunics, minus the belts and tabards that would instantly mark him out as Jedi. Shmi had risen and gone over to the counter.

And Obi-Wan himself?

Obi-Wan was savoring his daily cup of indulgence: tea. Halfway decent tea-leaf was a luxury here and more-so in their situation, and Obi-Wan had scolded Shmi quite a bit for that purchase – after he'd hugged her until her ribs creaked.

Of course all that had gotten him was a swat on the arm and Shmi informing him that it was she who was managing the feeding of this little family and she'd do as she felt was needed. And arguing with Shmi was a bit like arguing with Qui-Gon – she could be damn near immovable when she felt herself to be right.

“Even if,” Anakin retorted, still bleary-eyed but perking up after the application of comestibles, as he always had. “I know 'm not big enough for a lot yet, but I need to start practicing! And it's not like I can do katas in the junk yard.”

“That would draw the kind of attention we don't need,” Qui-Gon agreed, but somewhat absently.

“What we need is to get off this rock,” Anakin muttered, not quite under his breath.

“Agreed, and we're working on that,” Obi-Wan said, but he was watching his master. “Qui-Gon?”

“Perhaps we could do katas in the junk yard,” Qui-Gon mused, brushing his thumb thoughtfully along the edge of his mustache. “Perhaps I am merely teaching you how to fight.”

Anakin shook his head. “It'd be too obvious that I already know,” he said glumly. “And I can't go out with you guys because I gotta be around in the day, or Watto'd get real suspicious real quick.”

Qui-Gon still looked thoughtful. “But we can, perhaps, go out while it is earlier in the night. If you don't mind losing a little sleep and _**if**_ your mother is agreeable. The darkness should not present a problem, after all.”

Anakin's eyes lit up and Obi-Wan bit off a sigh, because really, he ought to have thought of that. “Mom, can I? Please?”

Shmi turned from setting dishes in the cleaner and leaned back against the counter, folding her arms. “ _ **If**_ Ben agrees to be another set of watchful eyes, I'll consider it. Although I still don't understand why the dark isn't a problem.”

“'cause it – ”

“With the – ”

Obi-Wan and Anakin both stopped, and looked at each, and Anakin grinned and waved at Obi-Wan. Who opened his mouth again, closed it, and looked at Qui-Gon instead, feeling sudden mischief creep up like an old friend he'd not seen in a while. He quite _liked_ the idea that _he_ didn't always have to answer the questions anymore.

Qui-Gon's raised eyebrow said volumes, but he gave in with serene grace. “A Jedi should not need light – or indeed, eyes – to see,” he said to Shmi. “All things are in the Force, and we need only to truly open ourselves to feel them.”

“Feel? But we are talking of seeing,” Shmi said firmly, and Obi-Wan felt the curl of Anakin's amusement in the Force.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said. “And no.”

Shmi's chin came up in that gesture Obi-Wan recognized so well –

~ _Wow, I_ really _got that from her, didn't I?_ ~ Anakin sent –

– and she and Qui-Gon were off and running. They kept it up as Qui-Gon rose to help Shmi tidy the tiny kitchen, and continued it out the door when Shmi left for Watto's shop, Qui-Gon accompanying her. By then the debate had shifted from Jedi perception to Force philosophy, a safer topic for the open street.

Mischief faded, tangling with something else in Obi-Wan's chest as he watched them out the door.

He'd discovered over the last month just how formidable Shmi's wit and logic actually were, when she could use them without fear of punishment. It had been his growing pleasure to talk with her, and lately these discussions with Qui-Gon had put a spark in his Master's eye, as well.

She also had an seemingly instinctive sense of some of the basic Jedi tenets. Add to that her kind, beautiful spirit and pleasing form …

Well.

If those things were putting any other kind of spark in Qui-Gon's eye …

_Give it to the Force, Kenobi_ _._

It would go as the Force Willed, and if so, then Obi-Wan would be happy for them, dammit. Fear leads to jealousy leads to greed and so on, and he would meditate until his young-again knees locked up solid before he got anywhere near that path.

No matter that the physical reality of Qui-Gon _here_ , _alive_ , had reawakened every nerve-tingling, cock-lifting, impossible dream Obi-Wan had ever suffered through the first time around and then some.

No matter what it did to his own heart.

“Your mother would have made a good Jedi, Padawan,” he mused, as he and Anakin prepared to leave.

Anakin sighed. “Yeah, I always thought so,” he said, sounding wistful, and Obi-Wan sent a wash of affection and apology down their bond as they stepped outside, because Light of the Force, if he'd only not kriffed that up the first time –

A good solid whack on his hip made him jump. “Anakin!”

“Just stop then, all right?” Anakin glared up at him, blue eyes narrowed in the unforgiving suns-light. “You know I don't remember everything but I _do_ remember that I didn't actually _tell_ you what my dreams really were – that she was gonna – so how could you know?”

Sithhells, were his shield thinned again? “I – should have pushed to get her free – ”

“Be- _en._ ” Anakin dragged his “public” name out in blatant frustration and stopped dead, yanking on Obi-Wan's hand until he came down on one knee on the sand path, putting them at eye level. “ **Stop. It.** Do you even _know_ how you –?” ~ _Not every fierfekking thing that happens is_ **your** **fault** _ **!**_ **~**

~ _Language,_ ~ Obi-Wan chided automatically, even as his mouth fell open in surprise. ~ _Anakin. I do not –_ ~

~ _You do._ ~ Anakin put both small hands on Obi-Wan's upper arms and leaned in. ~ _Gods, you_ **do** _,_ _Obi-Wan_ _,_ _you do,_ _and you don't even –_ ~

He shook his head and huffed, blond hair flying. “Okay, we gotta go, not the time for this. Just – think about it, okay? We're doin' this _different_ this time and I'm gonna _talk_ to you about _everything_ even if I die of _embarrassment_ and you're gonna talk to me too if I have to _sit on you_ and just, just – _different_ , _better_ , both of us, okay?”

Hundred little gods, but his padawan was dead-serious about this. “I will,” Obi-Wan said finally, searching Anakin's eyes. “I will – think about it. What you've said. I promise.”

The next moment he swayed with an armful of youngling as Anakin hugged him tight around the neck. Obi-Wan hugged him back, closing his eyes and cherishing the touch, his padawan's unique sense and smell, and the deep affection they were both so afraid of expressing –

No.

No.

Say it. Say the _words_.

Call it what it was, attachment be damned: he knew better now, even if he wasn't completely sure exactly how he knew, yet. “I love you, Anakin,” he murmured.

He nearly got strangled in response. “Love you too, Obi-Wan.”

 

* * *

 

Anakin did indeed drag himself awake, to Obi-Wan's dryly expressed surprise, and the three of them headed out roughly two hours after mid-night, Anakin declaring a bit smugly that he knew there'd been a reason he'd put the over-tuned engine with the extra boost pack on the swoop bike.

Obi-Wan was quieter than his wont, though, and had been all the previous day. Qui-Gon knew the signs: his padawan was wrestling with something, and he'd tell Qui-Gon about it in time.

Or he wouldn't.

And if he didn't, then it would be Qui-Gon's Masterly duty to poke and prod until he'd determined whether or not it was something that Obi-Wan needed to tell him about. For all his many shining qualities, the Obi-Wan of his dreams had tended to take onto his shoulders far more weight than he should.

This Obi-Wan, here in the flesh and burdened with so much more memory and pain than any one being deserved to endure, didn't seem to have shed that tendency. If anything, it was worse.

And that, most definitely, was something they needed to talk about.

“Let us see where we are,” Qui-Gon said when everyone's stretches and warm-ups were done. “First Form. Solo to begin with, then pairs. Quarter speed.”

“Begin at the beginning,” Obi-Wan quipped as he and Anakin stepped into the kata's first position, side by side.

Qui-Gon had deduced early on that Anakin must have been the padawan Obi-Wan had trained, and Obi-Wan had reluctantly confirmed it later when Qui-Gon had asked him, in private. A source of both pride and pain, all padawans were, but with Anakin, Qui-Gon sensed that the story was more painful than most. “There's much he doesn't remember, and I won't ask that he does unless there's no choice,” Obi-Wan had said. “Anakin – didn't have an easy time of it.”

_No more did you,_ Qui-Gon thought, but had held his peace.

But he expected someone Obi-Wan had trained to be good, and he was not mistaken.

Anakin was very good. Even with the obstacles of memory loss, a body not trained for this and not yet even approaching puberty, Anakin was very, _very_ good. Traces of his “dream” Obi-Wan's own elegant form were there (the same form this in-the-flesh Obi-Wan was struggling to regain), but overlaid with a unique style, marks of what would be when this padawan came into his own.

They didn't really move in sync, but it was clear that they had at one time, and probably would again when muscles relearned what minds already knew.

Qui-Gon circled, watching them, and had them repeat it but in the pairs form. Then again paired, at half speed. He said little but made notes in his head. When Anakin tripped over himself for the fourth time and swore, loudly and with imagination, Qui-Gon called a halt.

“A good session, Anakin; thank you,” Obi-Wan said after a long drink of the water Qui-Gon handed around, raking hair out of his eyes. He had tied it back into a knot for practice but of course stray bits had escaped, and the ends of his braids poked out defiantly.

Anakin gave him a sour look. “Be better if I wasn't trying to lay myself out.”

“Do you know why?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Yeah, I'm used to being taller! A lot taller, in fact,” Anakin said, and waved a hand at Obi-Wan. “Taller than him, but – ” His face scrunched up. “Not as tall as you, Master Qui-Gon – I don't think?”

“No, you missed that by a few inches,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “It's my lot to be surrounded by excessively tall humanoids, apparently. And don't bring up Master Yoda, please,” he went on, giving Qui-Gon a sideways look and that rare, engaging, open-mouthed grin, his eyes flashing in the starlight.

Qui-Gon's heart – stuttered, and his breath nearly caught.

Obi-Wan, having turned to talk to Anakin about technique, didn't seem to notice, and Qui-Gon grabbed a much-needed moment to recover.

_What in the Force?_

“I really really wanna practice with a 'sabre, too.” Anakin, sounding glum.

“As do I, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice dragging Qu-Gon dragging back to the Now. “We'll have to see about mocking some up; bladeless work only stretches one so far. I’d ask to borrow Qui-Gon’s, but it's too soon for that. And the blade's too long for me, really, and the hilt? Is unwieldy – his hands are huge.”

_Excuse me?_ Qui-Gon aimed a raised eyebrow at his apprentice, and got a curl of mischief through the Force in return.

“I’d try ‘n build one if I had half a chance,” Anakin said, “but … ”

“Indeed. Building a lightsabre without an actual focus crystal is beyond even your level of mechanical genius, my friend.” Obi-Wan gave Anakin's hair a quick ruffle.

Anakin just sighed.

 

*

 


	3. Step Forward, Step Back

 

 

“So, what conclusions have you reached?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan blinked and looked over at him. “Hm?”

“You’ve been thinking hard.” Qui-Gon stacked the last of the sanitized firstmeal dishes; Shmi and Anakin had already gone. That done, he turned and leaned back against the counter next to Obi-Wan, which also let him bend his knees and straighten his back – the ceiling in much of the hovel was just not quite high enough.

A hint of a sigh in their bond. “Anakin’s correct, we do need to get off this planet, sooner than later.”

No, that wasn’t what his student been wrestling with, but it would do for now. “Catching his impatience?” Although Force knew Qui-Gon wouldn’t be at all sorry to see this world from space, either.

“He’s actually improved there.” Obi-Wan's mouth quirked. “He was far more – fidgety, the first time.”

“Fidgety,” Qui-Gon repeated, drawing the word out, his eyebrows rising. “Something you never were at seven Standard, I am sure.”

His reward was another abrupt flash of Obi-Wan’s grin, something he was making a point of trying to tease out of the younger man. Serious enough for the Council, was his padawan now, and far too little the sunny, lively imp he been training these past years.

“I was the absolute model of proper Jedi decorum at all times, my Master,” Obi-Wan said, sliding his hands into the sleeves of his worn, washed-out tunic, eyes dancing.

“Oh, no doubt, no doubt.”

“Are you implying that I am untruthful?”

“Implying? I'm not _implying_ anything.” Qui-Gon reached over and tugged gently on the braid behind Obi-Wan's right ear, and got a whisper of happiness in return, as he did every time. Something about the gesture had deep meaning for his student. “Did I – he – know you as a youngling, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan paused. “You know, I don't actually know?” He sounded thoughtful. “I'd have to guess that – he – was aware of me, perhaps,” he said, white teeth making a brief appearance as he bit his lip, “in the same way the Masters are usually aware of the younglings and Initiates, but more than that? I honestly don't know. I was aware of you, of course.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon echoed.

“Oh, we kept a close eye on all of you potential masters; I'm sure at that age you did the same,” Obi-Wan said slyly, and Qui-Gon nodded, conceding the point. “But I knew, as I got older, that you were supposed to be my Master.” More softly: “you – didn't share my conviction.”

Apparently he was a fool in more than one timeline. “Then I am most fortunate and twice over, it seems, to have such a stubborn padawan,” Qui-Gon said, giving the silky braid another tweak, and then drawing Obi-Wan into a loose, one-armed hug.

A fraction of resistance before Obi-Wan leaned into him, as though the younger man had to allow himself the touch. He smelled of warm skin and sand and that already familiar bright-sharp scent, like something green and growing, and Qui-Gon breathed him in.

The Order as a whole did not tend to much physical contact once out of the crèche, in order that attachment not be encouraged. Which was a practice that Qui-Gon had never liked and agreed with less and less as time went on. Most beings, humans in particular, needed a level of touch – the Jedi did themselves no favors by isolation – Qui-Gon cut himself off there. Another subject for later meditation.

“To return to your earlier point: removing ourselves from Tatooine. Which would be relatively easy, were it not for the need to buy Shmi and Anakin free.”

“Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, "because Shmi is unfortunately quite correct: running would have too high a chance of bounty hunters on their trail. Worse yet, Watto would in fact be completely within his rights to demand them back and demand restitution from the Order because _here_ – despicable as it is – they _are_ his legal property.” Obi-Wan’s expression said he’d rather eat live insects than acknowledge those facts, but there they were. “And while Watto is a bastard … It could be worse.”

Qui-Gon nodded, ruefully. It could be much worse, and he’d seen more of that than he cared to remember. “So it comes back to money in the end, as so many things do. Obi-Wan … ”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in question when Qui-Gon didn't immediately continue, and Qui-Gon found himself giving in to the urge to sigh. “How much will it take, do you think?”

“Money? To buy them both?” A grimace crossed his padawan's face. “Anakin is the better one to answer that, sad to say, but … ” He wiped a hand down his chin, pulled it away like something had bitten him, and smoothed it over his bound-back hair instead. Nervous “tells” if ever Qui-Gon had seen them. His shoulders, a little more solid now than when Qui-Gon had arrived, rose and fell against Qui-Gon's arm. “I'd say probably twenty thousand or so.”

“ _Twenty thousand?”_ To buy sentients. Sweet Force.

“In Wupiupi. Republic credits are worthless here, remember; the Hutts don't want them so neither does anyone else; it's Wupiupi or ChoMar. I don't remember the current conversion for ChoMar, but Wupiupi is running about two-thirds to the datarie.”

“So we need to find at least fifteen thousand, Republic. I cannot decide if I am relieved or appalled,” Qui-Gon said grimly. Fifteen thousand credits for two sentient lives. “The Council is unlikely to agree to fund that. Buying Force sensitives would set something of a 'bad precedent,' I have heard before.”

“Oh, I know.” Obi-Wan's voice was flat. “And unless the Council's make-up is quite different than I remember and somehow I doubt it, that is exactly what they'll say this time, as well.” He looked at Qui-Gon, and there was something bleak in his eyes that caught at Qui-Gon's heart. “Speaking of the Council, how long before they … ?”

“Send someone looking for the renegade Master? Much will depend on what Micah told them, and how much of that they believe. And what else is happening in the galaxy.” The Yinchorri situation Obi-Wan had described hadn't occurred yet, Qui-Gon was reasonably sure; there'd been no talk of conflict in the local cantinas catering to the pilots & pirates crowd. Yet.

Obi-Wan's mouth thinned. “I don't remember, and I need to. I _need_ to remember,” he muttered, and straightened away from Qui-Gon and took a few paces across the room, squeezing his eyes closed.

Remember what? “Your recall is excellent.”

Another grimace, vanishing quickly as Obi-Wan's control reasserted itself, more disquieting hints of the Master lurking beneath the surface of the skinny twenty-year-old. “Not as I should. There are – gaps.”

Well, who didn't have those? “Gaps.”

Eyes still closed, Obi-Wan nodded. “When I first – woke up, it was as if every moment was right there, in my head, clamoring all at once. But now … ” A sigh. “My apologies, Master. I've meditated on this and some things I've recovered, but – ”

Hundred little gods. “Obi-Wan.”

“ – there's something here on Tatooine that would help us, I'm sure of it, if I could only re – ”

“ _Obi-Wan._ You've nothing to apologize for.” Qui-Gon stepped forward as well and laid his hand on the warm skin of Obi-Wan's forearm. Unease and something else swelled in the Force.

Clouded blue-gray eyes looked up at him. “I – ”

“For not holding onto every moment of two lifetimes? You're neither a droid nor a data-chip.” Qui-Gon tightened his hold. “You take too much on your shoulders, Padawan.”

Blue-gray sharpened, pressure building in their bond. “I do what I must, Master.”

His own words, thrown back, and they stung. “As must we all. But there is no failure in being mortal or in asking for help.”

“You never did,” Obi-Wan said, cool and precise.

Qui-Gon stared at him, rocked by the words and the sudden, hot-ice pain behind them, before Obi-Wan’s shields hardened. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and visibly refocused himself on the wall just over Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “My apologies, Master. My tone was disrespectful and uncalled for.”

 _B_ _ut no mention of the words themselves._ _E_ _legantly done, Padawan. This is the string-edge of the tangle of our lives, I think, and the differences you don’t want to talk about._ “I am not _him_ ,” Qui-Gon said evenly. “Don’t seek to apportion to me things done by the Master Jinn in that other life. Or if I'm going to be blamed, at least tell me what for.”

Obi-Wan's face twisted. “I don't blame _you_ ,” he said earnestly, but he did not meet Qui-Gon's eyes. “I don't.”

“But there is blame, rightly or wrongly, that you've not been able to release, and I am the Master Jinn in front of you now,” Qui-Gon said. Something next to his heart was beginning to ache. “We must work this through, you and I, or it will eventually color everything we do. You cannot hold such pain inside without it damaging you, and those around you.”

And hadn't he himself learned that lesson the hard way?

“Besides, I will surely make enough mistakes of my own for you to chide me for.”

“Master!”

“Talk to me, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan stood away from him then and crossed his arms over his chest, hands tucked into his sleeves again, profile exposed by the hard pull of hair away from his face, caught in a half-tail like Qui-Gon's own. He looked abruptly vulnerable, a slender innocent far out of his depth.

“I – can’t,” he said thickly, and looked away. His unease was like sticky, cloying mud against Qui-Gon’s senses.

“Cannot or will not?”

“ _Can_ not. What if I change – ” Obi-Wan stopped short and swallowed.

Qui-Gon sighed. “You don’t have to do this alone, no matter what you may have been told,” he said quietly, holding his own control firm. Oh, recalcitrant student. “Self-reliance is crucial to a Jedi, but to refuse true help, freely offered, may be something closer to pride.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Qui-Gon knew he’d made a mistake.

Obi-Wan's head came back around sharply. “Pride?”

Unease soured into stabbing hurt, the betrayal of an attack from a quarter Obi-Wan hadn’t thought to defend. Then it disappeared behind adamantine walls as the “innocent” vanished and Obi-Wan’s back went perfectly straight.

“Self-reliance was among the first lessons I learned, that ultimately there was nothing to depend on but myself and the Force, and you reinforced that many times. That was a truth but for which I might have crumbled, more than once, and it was all that sustained me in the end _when_ _there_ _was_ _no_ _one_ _else._ ” Obi-Wan bit the words off just so, the very softness of them a shout and a slap. “And now you would call it – _pride?_ ”

“Obi-Wan – ”

“Please.” Obi-Wan stopped him. “I have heard your words and I thank you for your teaching,” he said, the ritual phrasing perfectly correct and utterly lifeless. “I beg leave now to meditate upon them and seek wisdom.”

Oh, Qui-Gon had kriffed this up nicely, hadn’t he?

Words failed in the reality of pain caused where none had been intended, and a diplomat’s skill would only worsen it now because Obi-Wan would see right through it.

Qui-Gon's student, yes, but beneath that young skin was a full Jedi Master in truth, and Qui-Gon forgot that to the injury of them both. A Master and a soul-wounded one at that, and if Qui-Gon couldn’t check and adjust his own reactions, their relationship would be finished before it began, here in the physical world.

The ability to analyze politicians and royalty gave him no guidance to deal with this man who'd become so close, so quickly, to his own heart. Qui-Gon gave a stiff nod of permission, the ritual response unspoken as its syllables congealed like so much wet ash on his tongue.

The quiet shoosh and snik of the door, and Qui-Gon was alone.

He sank into a chair and braced his elbows on the table's tired surface, and closed his eyes. A few breaths, releasing the worst of his turmoil to the Force, and then he brushed a delicate caress along the training bond, offering deep affection and vast regret, and a silent question.

The bond quivered. There was no answer, but there was no further strengthening of shields on Obi-Wan’s side, either; only one sharp echo of the hurt Qui-Gon had felt earlier, and a whisper of sadness. And a wordless request: _wait._

Relief crept in on small feet. _Of_ _course_.

Qui-Gon cradled that sadness as best he could, the tiny bit their now-limited contact allowed. Against eight years, what were some few hours? Qui-Gon could be patient, and he needed to think. And he had, the Force was telling him, little other choice if he was to make this right.

*

 


	4. Avalanche

 

 

After some hours of meditation and having found a measure of acceptance, if not exactly serenity, Qui-Gon made his way into the junk shop, where he was informed that Ben had taken the swoop bike and gone “somewhere” and therefore Anakin had decreed Qui-Gon to be the “hand-me-that-tool” being for the day.

After some intricate soothing, Qui-Gon left Watto grumbling about the absence – of the swoop bike, not of Ben – and followed Anakin's wake out into the salvage yard. The Toydarian was too perceptive at the wrong moments, and already suspicious of there being more to “Qui S’War” than there appeared.

Ducking under the duracloth canopy set up on the far side of the yard, Qui-Gon settled onto the sand next to the pair of short legs protruding from under the engine repair Anakin was struggling with. Annoyance drifted out in the Force along with the periodic mutter in Huttese, Bocce, and, interestingly, Mando’a.

The mutters were not, Qui-gon realized, directed solely at the stubborn machinery.

“Does that actually help?” he finally inquired, darkly amused.

“Does what help?” an irritated voice snapped in return.

“Grumbling at something that can't grumble back.”

A clank, a hiss, and then a couple of words that would definitely have both Shmi and Obi-Wan scolding him. Anakin pulled himself out, sat up, and leveled a glare worthy of Master Windu himself at Qui-Gon from beneath lowered eyebrows. “What did you do to Obi-Wan?”

There was irritated and then there was disrespectful. Qui-Gon bent a hard look on the boy.

Anakin was not noticeably quelled. “Not that he said anything, but he didn't have to.”

“Then why are you accusing me, Anakin?”

“Because it was thicker than hyperdrive sealant, even through his shields,” Anakin said. “The last time he felt like that – ” The boy looked away, shoving a hand through his hair and leaving dark oily-looking streaks in the blond locks.

It? “Felt like what?” Qui-Gon watched the child's jaw set. “Anakin?” he asked, careful to keep his own voice mild, throttling back the instinct to treat the boy as the seven-year-old Initiate Qui-Gon knew he was not.

“Like something had really hurt him. Deep down, in all those emotions we aren't supposed to have. It took me a long time, _too_ long,” Anakin growled, “to understand that that's what it was, 'cause he's got shields like starcruiser hulling: nothing gets through without a crazy amount of firepower.”

“Anakin.”

The boy studied him with those eyes of sunny-sky blue, midway between Obi-Wan's clear water and Qui-Gon's own near-indigo shades.

“In the last eight years, Obi-Wan has become very near the most important being in my life,” Qui-Gon said softly, honestly, “and that when all I had of him were dreams. I owe him more than I can express, and the _last_ thing I wish to ever do is to cause him pain.

“But I have done that, and I may again without knowing it because there are decades, an entire life, things that shaped him, that I don't yet understand. I need your help, Ani.”

“Obi-Wan said more than once that you never really needed anything except the Force.” Anakin's gaze didn't soften. “He almost revered you, y'know.”

That … hurt. In more ways than one.

“I hope not. I am merely a mortal being following the guidance of the Force as best I am able to hear it, as all Jedi must. To be a Master is to require obedience of the Padawan, but never mindlessness. And I am not _him_ ,” Qui-Gon said for the second time that day. _I_ _begin to_ _hope,_ _more and more_ _._ “But how much am I like him?” A question maybe this time he'd get an answer to.

“I don't know.”

What?

“I didn't know you very well.”

Qui-Gon’s heart sank. Something had happened between he and Obi-Wan, then, after his student’s knighting? The demands of their vocation, separating them for long periods of time with little regard for the stresses on mind and heart?

Or worse – an estrangement, such as had gone on between Qui-Gon and his own master for far too long. Would that fit the words Obi-Wan had not-quite-flung at him earlier, that he’d never known Qui-Gon to ask for help?

 _Reckless and headstrong._ His own words, committed to his journal in a moment of mingled frustration and pride, came back to bite at him now. He’d meant Obi-Wan, and had somehow forgotten that hoary Jedi truism: _to understand the padawan,_ _watch_ _the master_. “What happened, Ani?”

For a long moment he thought that Anakin wouldn't answer him, but finally, reluctantly, the words came, stark and unadorned: “You died.”

All the air left Qui-Gon’s lungs, utterly without warning.

“About three days after we met, I think, and I’m pretty sure he never forgave himself for it. I think … maybe he never forgave you, either.”

“How?” It was the only word he could get out, but Anakin seemed to understand.

“I don't really know.” The boy's gaze was distant as he stared in the direction of the pitted heap of scavenge just outside the duracloth’s area of shade. A stray breeze snuck in and lifted strands of blond hair. “He never said. I asked him once and he just – froze. All he ever said was that you wouldn’t wait for him, and that he didn't know why.”

Reckless and headstrong. _Ah, Obi-Wan._ Qui-Gon's chest ached.

“'n' maybe … ”

“Ani?”

“ … maybe I never did either. Either one of you.”

“Never what?”

“Forgave him,” Anakin whispered, eyes wide now, a growing sense of shock coloring the Force around him. “For letting you die. 'Cause then he trained me instead, and – ”

Concern overran his own pain, and Qui-Gon reached out. “Anakin.”

For a moment he thought the boy would push back, stiff as steel. Then he twisted around and scrambled into Qui-Gon's lap and clung, arms around Qui-Gon's waist as far as they would go and fingers digging into Qui-Gon's sides.

Qui-Gon held him, sheltering the small, shaking body against his own, rocking gently and murmuring soothing nonsense, sending calm through the Force. Anakin's aura was a maelstrom of nauseous misery and spike-edged horror, drowning in confusion and regret. Whatever had happened had been worse than terrible. It had been catastrophic.

It took a long time for the shudders to fade to mere trembling, and the terrible hitching breaths to subside to the occasional hiccup. Qui-Gon had expected tears and they had been shed, but almost silently, with few words that Qui-Gon could make out except for Obi-Wan's name and one other, a female's, perhaps, that he didn't recognize: Padmé.

“Better, little one?” Qui-Gon asked finally, still rubbing circles on Anakin's back.

“ … no.” A swallow, and another hiccup. “Yeah. Maybe.” A sniff. “'m not sure you c'n call me that.”

“What, 'little one'? Next to me, _everyone_ is little,” Qui-Gon confided to the tangled blond hair. Perhaps he'd be forgiven the slip.

Anakin made a sound that might have been a chuckle. “… didja call Obi-Wan that?”

“I did, at first,” Qui-Gon said, remembering the deceptively frail creature his padawan had appeared to be early on, and the tough, stubborn little spitfire beneath the skin. “I don't think he liked it very much.”

That got an actual giggle. “'ll bet he didn't,” Anakin said, voice still a little watery. He let go of Qui-Gon's tunic and sat up, wiping at his eyes with both hands. Qui-Gon felt him breathe deep and let it out, letting more of his turmoil go as well, with control that spoke well of the adult beneath.

Qui-Gon kept one hand on the narrow back, noting how Anakin leaned into it. “Tell me about this, Ani.”

“ … I _can't,”_ Anakin said, and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I really can't; I don't remember the, the details, just that it was all h-horrible. And it feels like it was m-my fault,” he finished in a whisper. “Not his; mine.”

Ah? Another thread in the tangle. “Obi-Wan takes much upon himself, doesn't he?”

Anakin’s shoulders slumped. “He takes _everything_. Everything the Council piled on him, all the _shaavit_ I threw at him – he was perfect. The perfect Knight: be serene, give it to the Force, follow the Code, don't question the _Council_ – ”

Oh, that was familiar.

“He was always there for me, even when I, I was too dumb to see it,” Anakin said, sounding caught between anger and wretchedness. “But we – we couldn't talk. Not like I wanted to. 'Cause he wouldn't understand, I thought – I mean, how could he? 'Cause he was 'perfect'.”

Anguish flowed off the child in waves, torment and revelation, as if much of what Anakin was saying were things the boy himself had only just realized.

'Perfect.' Was this the end result of Obi-Wan's striving?

Qui-Gon had worked hard, in the dream-time he been given, to steer his padawan between the ideals of the Jedi in his student’s head and the realities, both good and harsh. To get him to truly _feel_ the Will of the Force, to hear its whispers and _trust them in himself._

To help Obi-Wan reach that place where he would feel as much the broad, instinctive, Living Force leaps that Qui-Gon made as he did the precise, much neater Unifying Force structures that Obi-Wan himself most naturally attuned to, and steer between them.

To truly know that the Force – not tradition, not the Code, and not the Council – must be his ultimate guide.

 _Is_ _this the culmination of his – my – teachings, ended before the final lessons were learned?_ _Did I fail,_ _ **so much**_ _, to show him true balance,_ _that he somehow saw_ _ **me**_ _as – perfect_ _?_ _And spent the rest of_ _his_ _life trying to live up to what he thought he saw?_

_Was my death the pebble to start an avalanche?_

Reckless and headstrong.

Swallowing against the sourness rising in his throat, Qui-Gon closed his eyes.

 

*

 


	5. The Path Of Stone And Sand

Hitching himself back beneath the slight rock overhang, Obi-Wan looked out across the wastes at the setting suns.

The first one was nearly below the horizon now, the second following in its stately fashion, neither rushing nor slowing. A procession that had not changed for a million years, and would not change for a million more. The only sounds were the voices of the desert night-hunters and the eternal hiss of sand, like some vast planetary serpent indifferent to the mortals suffering beneath it.

This would be far from the first night he'd spent alone beneath Tatooine's night sky, but the first in a long, long time where he'd been so stupid as to be caught in the open without supplies or weapon of almost any kind. Passing the night in this minute excuse for a cave – just a cleft in the rocks, really – wouldn't be at all comfortable, but he'd endured worse.

“Although not recently, have you?” he murmured, his voice barely stirring the air. “In either life. Still not yet learned that whole 'older and wiser' thing, evidently. Anakin will never let you live this one down, rightfully so, and Qui-Gon … ”

Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan leaned his head back against the fast-cooling stone and closed his eyes. Qui-Gon might well tear a half-parsec wide strip off of him and worse yet, he'd deserve it. Running off in a – yes, say it.

In a snit, like a first-year Padawan – kark, not even. A first-year Initiate, no emotional control to speak of. A fine example of a Master, he was.

Could he attribute any of that to being yanked out of a nice, peaceful (he thought he remembered) death without so much as a “by your leave,” perhaps? Wouldn't that make anybody cranky?

Obi-Wan huffed, laughing at himself.

“ … _r_ _eckless_ _and headstrong … ”_ Qui-Gon's voice rang through his mind, the memory as sharp-edged as it had been that day in the Council Chamber, more than four decades ago.

And he'd tried so hard not to live down to that, to curb his own impetuosity during the years of Anakin's apprenticeship and give the boy a stable platform, to steer his student’s wildwater tendencies into the guided flow of Jedi tradition. The war had destroyed so much of that foundation, he'd thought at the time. But that hadn't been it at all, had it?

And here Obi-Wan was now, giving lie to everything he'd ever tried to teach.

Smarting from unintended (he had to believe that) insult, had he released it? No. Had he put it away to consider later, to examine and understand and let go, as a Master should? No.

What he _had_ done, was run.

He'd shunted aside Anakin's startled questions, taken the swoop bike and run, off to find stillness and silence to meditate when he once could have done that in the middle of a battle-scored starship falling to pieces around him.

Where had it gone, that peace he'd made with himself, the serenity built during those years alone in the desert? The hard-won, painful assurance that he _had done_ what had been needed, that the Will of the Force was indeed for balance in the end, even if it was a balance few had foreseen and none would have wanted?

Where had it gone? Shattered against this new reality like waves fragmenting on the shore, that's where. Peace was easier to claim when there was no-one there – no-one left – to contest your conclusions.

Oh, he needed to meditate, to integrate this new, not exactly welcome knowledge –

Meditate. Obi-Wan huffed again. _Be that honest, Kenobi,_ _and_ _call it what it is: brooding._

Of course, his “new” memories, the ones fresh and rotting from this new life – “Ben's” life – were not helping any, slithering out to prick his waking hours, making his head hurt and souring his dreams –

No. No. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut. Not now. Not _now_. _Release_ _that_ _turmoil to the Force,_ _at least, if you can't manage anything else_ _._

So. And what of the rest of it?

The rest of it was that he had run _again_ , further, to follow the trickle of memory that had finally come clear enough, seeking what might be the answer to the Skywalkers' freedom.

And had found it just where he'd thought, the barest hint of green just beneath the surface.

He'd spent the rest of the day digging, with fingers and then with the Force, convincing stones to come loose and lift, his reward the crystals now heavy in his pockets, the dull gleams and hints of green within them.

By the time Obi-Wan had pulled out enough of the smaller stones to perhaps, with judicious bargaining, to buy the freedom of two slaves, too much time had passed. He'd be twice again more a fool than he'd already proved himself to be to start back to Mos Espa now, tired as he was, over terrain unfamiliar and with his Force-sense currently iffy at best.

He'd been aware, even through his shielding, of concern from Anakin and Qui-Gon much of the day. But he'd not _bespoken_ either of them, only allowed them the assurance that he was safe and whole, because apparently he truly was the immature padawan Qui-Gon had treated him as …

Obi-Wan sighed, and straightened his posture into the comfortable pose he'd known all his life (although his body now wasn't yet sure about the “comfortable” part), setting one part of his mind to remain alert for danger, and sought meditation.

 

*

 

The ride back was bitingly cold, alone on the bike as he was in the rush of the pre-first-dawn air. Obi-Wan maneuvered the swoop through Mos Espa's still mostly empty streets. If anyone happened to recognize him, sneaking back at this hour, worn and dusty, it would surely only enhance his wonderful reputation.

Watto's fine establishment was locked up, of course, but the few hours of meditation – once he'd finally achieved it – had revived Obi-Wan enough to Force-lift the bike and himself over the walls. Force help him but he was almost looking forward to being poked, prodded, and interrogated by the Temple Healers because if anyone had a chance of figuring out how to alleviate this, this _misfiring_ of his Force-connection, it was them.

Settling on the dirty sands, he swung himself off and tugged the machine over into its usual hidden corner and reached for the tattered duracloth he and Anakin had salvaged to cover it.

That done, he allowed himself a soft sigh. Time to trudge back to Shmi's to face the consequences, as embarrassing as they promised to –

“Neatly done.”

Obi-Wan whirled.

The tall form of Qui-Gon Jinn detached itself from deep shadows and paced unhurriedly toward him. “You are well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Obi-Wan said faintly, willing his racing heart and jittering nerves to slow. Sweet eternal Force, how was it he'd had no sense of Qui-Gon's close presence until the man had spoken? Oh, there _had_ to be a solution for this. There _had_ to be.

Qui-Gon stopped in front of him, close enough to touch.

Obi-Wan looked up at the beloved face silhouetted in the approaching first dawn: the high forehead and craggy brows, the beard shading the strong, squared jaw, the silvering strands in the older man’s hair. He smelled the faintest hints of tea and the dark-sweet aroma of _dk'o_ nuts drifting from Qui-Gon's clothing and skin, scents that had meant _Qui-Gon_ and _home_ to him from that very first week he'd moved into the padawan room of his then-new master's quarters.

A sudden pang sliced through him, shattering whatever words he might have had. “Master … ”

This close, Qui-Gon's aura felt as unshakable as ever, calm/serene, warm, with strangely little hint of Masterly disappointment or disapproval. The solidity of him within Obi-Wan's Force-sense was shelter, safety, and Obi-Wan mentally _leaned_ , just for a moment or two.

“Did you find the answers you sought, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked.

And wasn't that just the million credit question? “One or two. And a memory,” Obi-Wan said, conscious of the weight in his pockets and the diversion it offered. He wasn't ready to tell Qui-Gon of his conclusions – he wasn't sure he'd call them answers – yet, or the memories. Or the shadows – no.

Instead he fished out one rough-edged crystal and offered it on his palm.

“It isn't my naming-day,” Qui-Gon rumbled, one corner of his mouth pulling up, a hint of amusement flashing through the Force. His fingertips brushed Obi-Wan’s skin as he took the stone and rolled it between two big fingers.

“That's good, because that's not actually a present,” Obi-Wan said with a quick grin. The strip-tearing-off might not be as bad as he’d anticipated. “But it might be the answer to a problem.”

Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose in question.

Obi-Wan lowered the outermost shields he'd kept on his end of their bond. ~ _Of money. If I can find someone willing to buy that, and the others I found, we may just net enough to get Shmi and Ani free_.~

 _~A valuable stone, then?_ ~

Obi-Wan nodded. ~ _Somewhat. A little-known mineral that some call Tatooine emerald. The locals call it abveneen, too, or grossol. It can be cut for jewelry and to adorn other things, and its color is considered pleasing, although nowhere near the high-quality gem greens. And,_ ~ he went on as Qui-Gon examined the dirty stone, ~ _if cut a different way, it can have another quality, one unknown and of no use except to a select few. Hold it with the Force._ ~

The stone rose above Qui-Gon's big palm and hovered there. It rotated gently as Qui-Gon considered it, probing it gently; then the deep-blue eyes went wide as the stone sang out one long note in the Force, a hum that lingered like a bell-chime.

~ _Cut correctly,_ ~ Obi-Wan sent, smiling, ~ _it can become that rare crystal which might be used as a focus …_ ~

“ … for a lightsabre,” Qui-Gon breathed softly, letting the stone fall back into his hand. “How did you discover this?”

“The hard way.” Obi-Wan grimaced in rueful memory. “By needing one.”

 

*

 

They walked back to Slave Row in a quality of silence Obi-Wan thought he remembered, the one that said his come-uppance hadn’t actually been escaped, only deferred to a private moment. The anticipation was almost as uncomfortable as it had ever been, never mind how old he was. “Qui?”

He sensed the other man glancing over at him. “Ben?”

Still so strange to hear that name from this man's mouth. Obi-Wan took a breath. “I acted poorly. I took offense where none was intended, and caused distress because of it. I’m sorry.”

“Most certainly unintended, but I did cause you hurt, dear one: an unjustifiable hurt. I spoke in haste and without knowledge, and for that, I am sorry,” Qui-Gon said, his deep voice soft, like the velvet of the night sky.

And oh they soothed something, the rare endearment and the apology; soothed something raw in him that a Jedi should never have let abrade in the first place, but – “that doesn’t excuse my acting like a selfish child.”

Qui-Gon stopped them then, and cupped one big hand around Obi-Wan’s upper arm, the warmth of his fingers penetrating through both fabric layers of Obi-Wan’s shirts. “It does not,” – because Master Jinn was rarely less than honest – “but this misunderstanding shines a light on something we both need to see, and deal with. Without … information, one may … assume.” The barest hint of a smile. “Both courses are less than ideal.”

Ever the consummate wordsmith, was the diplomat Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi-Wan had been saddled with the moniker of “Negotiator” during the war, but it had only been because those poor sentients had been robbed of the privilege of seeing Senior Jedi Master Jinn in action. _Point to you, my Master._

 

*

 


	6. A Potential In Crystal

 

 

Anakin met them in the doorway of the Skywalker home, standing there with arms crossed over his chest and a glare much bigger than his actual physical person.

“That was dumb, Ben,” Anakin announced after he’d stared hard at Obi-Wan for a minute with vision and the Force, obviously ascertaining for himself that Obi-Wan was in one, undamaged piece. Annoyance and worry swirled like near-tangible things. “Not so much the running away, but the staying out there?”

“Anakin – ”

“Without water? A weapon? _A_ _nything?_ That was _dumb_ ,” Anakin said flatly, before he turned and marched inside.

Obi-Wan followed him in, Qui-Gon just behind and heard the door shoosh closed after them both, but his attention was firmly on the small form in front of him, and the mingled irritation and worry and – guilt? sneaking through the Force. “Anakin.”

Anakin turned around, hands planted on his hips this time. “'Be patient? Think?’” he quoted, throwing reprimands Obi-Wan had used a million times back at him. “Those words mean anything to you?”

Obi-Wan dropped to one knee for the second time in as many days. “ _An_ akin. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

Anakin’s mouth pursed. “Sorry enough not to do it again?”

“I _can_ take care of myself, you know,” Obi-Wan said softly.

For that, he got the Infamous Skywalker Eyebrows. “So. Not. The. Point.” Small hands gripped Obi-Wan’s upper arms. “You care about everybody, but people care about you too, you know; even when, when we kriff things up, we _care_. So can’t you _let_ us? Care?”

Oh. _Oh_.

His chest going tight, Obi-Wan slipped his hands around Anakin’s waist and the next moment had an armful of seven-year-old, and tousled hair that smelled of sand and lubricant tickling his nose. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and hugged Anakin close, and then closer, for all the times before that he should have hugged his padawan and had not.

 _Could_ not – Code and conditioning overriding his heart. Even now it was difficult …

“’m … out of practice with that, I’m afraid,” he muttered finally around the lump in his throat.

A snort by his ear. “No kiddin’.” Anakin’s arms tightened around Obi-Wan’s neck. “But you’ll learn, ‘cause I’m saying it ‘til you’re sick of it. Different this time, remember?”

“I remember,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Weight and warmth, physical and in the Force, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes again to meet Qui-Gon’s deep-water blue ones past the curve of Anakin’s head, his big hand resting on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“You are very much cared for, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, the rumble of his voice accompanied by affection welling up in their bond like warm ocean current, deep and powerful and so bitterly missed for so very long and Obi-Wan would never get enough of it. Never. “Even when we, as Anakin so elegantly put it, kriff things up,” and the hand on his shoulder delivered a firm squeeze. “Never doubt that.”

Obi-Wan nodded tightly, his eyes stinging. Stars, but this was ridiculous: a little expression of fondness and he was suddenly in peril of making a messy emotional splatter all over Shmi's nice clean floor. So much for a Master's serenity. _Give it to the_ _F_ _orce, Kenobi._

He swallowed hard. “So.” _Kriff_ , was that voice his? Try again. “There actually was a good reason for my tempting the carnivorous night-life.”

“Course there was.” Anakin didn't sound impressed, but he did unlatch his grip from around Obi-Wan's neck. “Siddown and you can try and convince me,” he said, grabbing Obi-Wan’s hand instead and yanking in the direction of the table.

Where Shmi already sat, watching them – watching him – with calm dark eyes, and Obi-Wan hadn't even realized she was there.

Another witness to his lapse. Wonderful.

Suppressing a sigh, Obi-Wan sat down. Anakin bounced into the chair by his mother's, and Qui-Gon folded himself into the seat opposite with that quiet, noble grace that Obi-Wan knew he'd never himself achieved, and he'd had a life-time to work on it, too.

He dug the first bunch of stones from his pants pocket and let them trickle out in a short arc on the table-top.

Shmi took a breath.

Anakin leaned up and forward, staring at the crystals shedding dirt on the table. Then at Obi-Wan. “I know you like rocks,” he said slowly –

Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon's quick flashing grin. ~ _And who started me on that, Master-_ _mine_ _?_ ~

_~I’ll be pleased to take the blame for that, dear Padawan.~_

“ – but what are these, exactly?”

“Are these – ?” Shmi's voice mingled with her son's, and she picked up a stone and turned it in work-rough fingers before holding it up to the light. “Ben. Are these _grossol_ _s_ _?_ ”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin reached for the pile with suddenly greater interest. “These little baubles, and their location, are what I've been trying to get my memory to give up to me for days now.”

“Obi-Wan, these are _worth_ something!” Anakin exclaimed.

“Yes, I know,” Obi-Wan said, amused.

“Ben.” Shmi laid her free hand on his arm. “What is this? How did you know about these, how did you find them?”

“I lived here, on Tatooine, for a long time,” Obi-Wan said, his gaze drifting to meet Qui-Gon's, who had shifted forward, eyes intent. Obi-Wan had spoken little about his life in plain language, caught between the shameful desire to have Qui-Gon _understand_ and the very possible reality that the knowledge would shatter things Obi-Wan couldn't even fathom yet.

But Qui-Gon was also right: in holding so much back, they would only continue to trip over the boulders of Obi-Wan's past-future that he was too – yes, say it – too _afraid_ to shine a light on.

Fear leads to anger. And it had, hadn't it?

“A very long time,” he said. “And as charm and diplomacy will only carry one so far for so long in the acquisition of those little luxuries such as, say, food, I was in need of sources of barter.”

“None of your myriad other talents would suffice?” Qui-Gon asked. “Any mechanics shop, for a start, would be most fortunate to have you.”

Warmed, Obi-Wan smiled at him. “Not a good idea to make myself too well-known, sadly. I needed to stay off the scanners. We were being hunted down, then, what few Jedi remained, and I had been charged with a – task that required that I wait, out of sight and mind.” He shrugged one shoulder. “No one much concerned themselves with the crazy wizard of the Wastes, who appeared occasionally with something to sell.”

“But how did you find them?” Shmi asked again. “I doubt they're just laying around on the sand.”

“With the Force, actually, although gemstones weren't what I was looking for at the time.” Or not exactly.

“This is why you stayed out?” Anakin broke in. “Because you remembered where to find these? And you couldn't've, oh, I don't know, come back and got one of us to help, maybe?”

“What fun would that be?” Obi-Wan asked, off of Anakin's sour look.

Which the boy then leveled at Qui-Gon, to Obi-Wan's mixed consternation and amusement. “He got the 'attitude' from you, didn't he.”

Qui-Gon's eyebrows rose. “Obi-Wan's sense of humor is quite singularly his own; I take no responsibility for that.”

“Uh-huh.”

Amusement won. “None, my Master?” Obi-Wan said with mock sorrow. “You must know that I have ever striven to be a credit to your teachings. None at all?”

“None whatsoever,” Qui-Gon lied serenely, his face composed and his mirth glinting like sunlight in the Force. “Your ability was innate, and its present accomplishment all your own doing, my Padawan.”

“But I would never have sought to acquire such a skill without your approval, or your acquiescence, at the very least.”

“Oh, you acquired several skills without my approval,” Qui-Gon said dryly.

Obi-Wan noted Anakin leaning forward now with undisguised interest, and kept his own smile firmly under control. “I distinctly recall some aiding and abetting on your part, actually – ”

“Boys.”

Shmi stopped them in in her gentle, no-nonsense way, pinning Obi-Wan silent with a look before he quite realized she was doing it. Then she turned that look on Qui-Gon, and the faintest hint of a smile flirted at the corners of her mouth.

Blue eyes met brown, and then to Obi-Wan’s bemusement and faint unease, Qui-Gon’s face creased into a smile – a full one – in return, and he inclined his head to her as he would to a fellow Jedi who'd just bested him in a spar: gracious in defeat, his eyes sparkling.

“Allow me the illusion that my son will not pick up bad habits and skills from either of you – ” Shmi’s glance scooped in Obi-Wan as well “ – or at least, not yet?”

“My apologies, Shmi,” Qui-Gon said, the laughter that had been coloring the Force around them now lilting just below the surface of his voice.

“Mom, you are exactly no fun,” Anakin complained, grinning broadly, and Obi-Wan lost the battle with his own smile.

This was – this was strange. Unnerving. And yet, this was _wonderful_. This teasing; this sense of play. Of warmth.

Of belonging.

The Temple had been his home and the Jedi his brothers and sisters, his family, and he'd missed them like a lost limb, but had he ever felt this amazing sense of belonging there? This inclusion in a small, safe, special circle, with beings who wanted him there simply because they liked him?

Was this what Anakin had been so missing, before?

~ _Obi-_ ~   “ – Wan?”

Obi-Wan blinked and came back to three sets of eyes, one brown and two blue, and the uneasy feeling that he'd missed a chunk of the dialogue, somewhere. Apparently he was a bit more tired than he'd thought. “Hmm?”

“Tatooine to Ben,” Anakin said.

“I'm alright, Ani,” Obi-Wan said, and smiled at Anakin's moue of suspicion and Qui-Gon's gentle, wordless query. Warmth suffused him, closing like a hug around that lonely twelve-year-old boy who still, to his shame, lived somewhere deep down under his skin. “I’m here.”

“O-kaay,” Anakin said. “So, now that we’ve got that settled – y'know, that you’re _here_ – maybe we can move on with the part about how we make enough money off of these so that Mom and I can be somewhere _other_ than here?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. “We sell them, of course.”

“Well, duh.”

“Although, the buyers I knew are in Mos Eisley.” Obi-Wan snorted. “About thirty years from now.”

“I – might be able to help with that.” Shmi’s voice was thoughtful.

“And I might have an idea, as well,” Qui-Gon said, and there was a light in his eyes that Obi-Wan remembered all too well. The one that spoke of something Force-directed that was going to get them flogged or feted or both, and thundered at by the Council no matter what.

~ _O_ _o_ _h boy_.~

~ _Anakin?_ ~

~ _The last time_ _I saw_ _Master Qui-Gon look_ _like that? I_ _won_ _a pod race._ ~

~ _Oh, dear_.~

 

*

 


	7. Confessions (Voices in the Day-Night)

 

 

Alone in the main room, Qui-Gon gently handled the stones on the table, turning the largest of them – the one which had sung in the Force, earlier – between his fingers.

Using spit and a scrap of cloth, he cleaned them, slowly and meditatively, opening his mind, listening for the deeper whispers of the Force while his fingers sought the greenish warmth hidden in the crystal hearts.

Between the three of them, they had persuaded Obi-Wan to lie down before Anakin and Shmi left for the shop, more than an hour ago now. A lost sleep-period or two was no kind of hardship for a Jedi Knight, if that knight was fully hale to begin with.

But Obi-Wan was not.

Not yet, despite that young man’s protests that he was certainly strong enough for one sleepless night, at least.

Physically he had improved, yes, even in the relatively short time Qui-Gon had been there. And he continued to train – both his body and his Force control – with every scrap of the single-minded determination Qui-Gon knew from their joint dreams.

Yet when Obi-Wan was tired, his controls and his shielding slipped, creating weak spots, and more than Qui-Gon suspected Obi-Wan realized.

Weak spots brought on, Qui-Gon was convinced, by the years of chemical abuse that Obi-Wan’s body had been subjected to. The spice-wrought damage was somehow interfering with both Obi-Wan’s control of himself and with his connection to the Force, perhaps with his midichlorians themselves.

Like a limb that had been crushed – the injury healed, the mobility regained, but the endurance possibly never to be the same.

Qui-Gon put down the cloth scrap and picked up the _grossol_ with the Force. Suspended it at his own eye level so that the suns-light diffusing through the room's angled shutters illuminated the stone, revealing the depths and inclusions, the shifts of color, from darker to lighter and back again.

A gem connoisseur would call it flawed. A Jedi seeking a 'sabre focus crystal would never give it a first look, never mind a second one.

But its song in the Force was pure.

Qui-Gon listened. And breathed, in and out.

Nothing he’d seen to this point had persuaded him to take back what he’d told Obi-Wan earlier. On the contrary: he’d stand by every word of it. If Obi-Wan could not recover, then he would relearn. All things were possible in the Force, and in any case Qui-Gon wasn’t convinced these days that midichlorian count was the be-all-end-all measure of ability that the Order saw it as.

And despite his injuries, there was a core of strength to Obi-Wan the likes of which Qui-Gon had never met before. His “dream” padawan had been strong, stronger than he suspected the boy himself had ever believed, but now?

This Obi-Wan was a solid pillar, an achingly beautiful tree with a trunk wider than Qui-Gon's arms could compass. Roots bedded in Force and Force the life-flow of trunk and branches and leaves, a canopy of Light sheltering all beneath.

And like a tree, bending with the storms, steady and serene: losing leaves and perhaps limbs, the spice damage creating weak spots on its bark but never reaching the core.

Never breaking. Renewed always in the Force, succoring all who needed; yet by its very nature, always alone.

Well, alone no longer – Qui-Gon would keep watch, protect those weak spots, until Obi-Wan found the key to strengthening them.

And right now they were even useful, as a monitoring tool to keep a eye over his apprentice’s health, even knowing that Obi-Wan was sure to give him Sith’s own hell when that little nugget of information was revealed.

Besides, Qui-Gon didn’t actually _know_ for sure how much only he himself was sensing, through his and Obi-Wan’s training bond. Although given Anakin’s reactions, Qui-Gon had his suspicions. The younger Skywalker had been half-ready to apply force if necessary, earlier today, when Obi-Wan had balked at Qui-Gon's Masterly direction to rest.

But it was Shmi's request to which Obi-Wan had finally acquiesced; a fact Qui-Gon had noted, been unexpectedly stung by, and released to the Force within the space of a breath.

Obi-Wan slept now, curled on the crude mattress that was his bed in Anakin's room, and it was taking far more of Qui-Gon’s willpower than it should to thwart the urge to go and simply watch him …

Well, and why not? It would be far from the first time he’d watched over a padawan. Qui-Gon snorted. Indeed.

It took only moments to move the chair. Qui-Gon settled just inside the doorway of the bedroom, his back against the cool adobe wall.

The room Anakin and Obi-Wan shared was a bit smaller than the main one, and with the shutters closed it was lit only by the tiny ready-lights of some of Anakin’s projects, like a few small, scattered stars in a pocket of Wild Space. Obi-Wan himself was a humped shape in the dim.

Qui-Gon had brought the _grossol_ with him, and he rolled it now between three fingers, slowly, drifting back into meditation with the stone as focus, feeling contours and ridges and potential.

The stone could just possibly be the key to solving more problems than the liberation of Anakin and Shmi, the Force was telling him: they might be the key to the whole planet. The Hutts were here and running the place because no-one else wanted it, near as he could tell – there was nothing here _to_ want unless one liked sand. And Hutts did _not_ like sand, which only increased that particular mystery.

But if there _was_ something here to want …

If there was … and the Force's prodding was as clear as the gem in his hand was murky. This beigy-green crystal was the key, but it would take more economically strategic minds than Qui-Gon's to discover the right lock. Qui-Gon smiled. Fortunately he knew precisely such a mind, and a challenge such as this might be just the –

“… Qui?”

Instant refocus. “You should be sleeping.”

“'re you … ?” A rustle. “You sh'd be doing somethin' other than watchin' me.”

Qui-Gon pocketed the stone and shifted himself and the chair, settling both at the side of the alcove that held mattress and bedclothes and Obi-Wan. The room smelled a little of metal and a bit of the synthpol the mattresses were stuffed with, and a lot like sleep-warm human. Lemongrass, Qui-Gon thought absently, that’s what Obi-Wan’s bright-sharp smell reminded him of.

“It's a master's prerogative to watch, you know; for health or duty or joy or merely to make our padawans nervous. As I'm sure you are personally aware,” he added.

The sense of coming rebuttal he'd felt, paused. “Not fair, Master,” the padawan in question grumbled.

“True,” Qui-Gon agreed, and the warmth in the Force assured him that his teasing had been understood. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” Another rustle, the gleam of half-open eyes in the pale blur of Obi-Wan's face. “Little sleep, little mediation, neither very well.”

And that could lead too easily to another lesson Obi-Wan didn't need, about serenity and letting go, but perhaps Qui-Gon himself had learned from the last foray. Old banthas, new tricks, and so on.

But truly, a better opening he'd probably not get again anytime soon, and perhaps Obi-Wan would forgive him the abrupt reversal on the directive to sleep. “I would have peace, and clarity, between us, Obi-Wan. Will you hear my words?”

The gleam increased as Obi-Wan's eyes widened, perhaps at the ritual phrasing. “I will hear your words, Qui-Gon,” he said softly, sounding much more awake.

“You have acknowledged us as master and padawan, thus it is my duty and privilege to guide you in the ways of the Force and the Order, that you may be raised to Knighthood,” Qui-Gon said, equally quietly, using the old time-honored phrases and feeling his way. “I also am aware, and strive to understand, that your Knighthood and indeed your Mastery have already been achieved. It is my duty and my responsibility, therefore, to realize what you do and do _not_ need, and to tailor my teachings to your best advantage. In this I have mis-stepped, and caused you great pain, and this I regret. Very much.”

“Master – ”

Qui-Gon put a hand on Obi-Wan's unclothed shoulder when the other man would have sat up, and shook his head. “If I – he – taught you that it were better that you never seek help, that I or anyone would think less of you for doing so; or worse yet, that I myself was somehow an ideal you should aspire to – then I was _wrong_ , and I am sorry – ”

“Qui-Gon, _no_.” Obi-Wan sat up this time despite him, sheet falling forward and baring him to the waist, and put his hands on Qui-Gon's arms. “That was not what you – what he taught me.”

“But that's what you learned, nonetheless, isn't it?” Qui-Gon said, as gently as he could.

“I – ” Obi-Wan's mouth worked for a moment, and then his gaze dropped. The sense of his discomfort crept through the Force like water slowly rising.

“Did I so rarely ask for help?” Qui-Gon asked, after a minute or two.

“You did from strangers and people we'd met five minutes ago on missions, as you said the Force willed, but rarely from – fellow Jedi,” Obi-Wan said. His hands dropped as well, to rest in his lap.

Remembering the bitter years he'd struggled to come to terms with his second padawan's Fall, Qui-Gon had a sinking hunch as to why that might have been, if his counterpart’s life had followed that same pattern.

“A Jedi needs little more than the Force. Beings rely on us, so we must rely on the Force and ourselves.” Obi-Wan's shoulders moved in a tiny shrug. His skin was milk-pale in Qui-Gon's Force-enhanced sight, his loose hair a darker jumble of locks and braids. “You taught me self-reliance, and it served me quite well for a very long time, certainly during Anakin's early padawan years, when there was no one else.”

“No one else,” Qui-Gon repeated, sensing they'd reached the heart of – something. When Obi-Wan was silent, Qui-Gon laid a light hand over his padawan's more narrow ones, curled atop the blanket. “Obi-Wan?”

“The Council refused Anakin for training,” Obi-Wan said finally. “He was far too old, by Order tradition. Too set in his own ways, not those of the Jedi. They thought him fearful. Dangerous.” A snort. “Which he was, of course. He made them nervous.”

“How old?”

“Nine Standard.”

Two years older than Anakin was right now, and already the child’s light in the Force was brilliant. In another two years …

“Nervous? Tell the truth: he scared them half to death,” Qui-Gon said, and was rewarded with the flash of Obi-Wan's smile. “But they did allow it.”

“After I told Yoda that I'd train him regardless, with or without the Order – yes, they did.”

Qui-Gon's eyebrows lifted. This from the boy whose first goal – whose _only_ goal – had been to become a Jedi Knight?

“In light of that, how could I go to anyone for advice? The times I did, it was seen either as lack on my part or confirmation that the Order's policies on accepting only the very young were justified, or both. How could a being not raised in the crèche be trained up as a 'proper Jedi?'”

“And you could not come to me?”

Obi-Wan's breath hitched, very slightly. “No. You were … you were gone.”

 _You died,_ Anakin's voice whispered in Qui-Gon's memory. _About three days after we met._

His chest had begun to ache, and Force help him if he knew which pain was his own and which was Obi-Wan's.

Qui-Gon closed his fingers more firmly around his padawan's. “I am here now, my friend. And I will be here for you, as teacher and as fellow Knight, for as long as the Force allows. Let me help.”

Obi-Wan looked at him, his face calm, a thousand things trembling in the training link between them and in the Force. He turned his hand beneath Qui-Gon’s and laced their fingers together. “I … ”

_~Thank you.~_

Obi-Wan's gaze dropped again. _~It’s – been the habit of many years_ _to do everything_ _, as Anakin pointed out to me earlier._ _Pointed out s_ _trongly,~_ he added, sounding wry. _~It may take a while to – adjust.~_

Qui-Gon’s mouth quirked. _~I_ _have some small experience in getting concepts through resistant_ _heads, both old and_ _young.~_

A chuff of air became an actual chuckle, to Qui-Gon’s delight. He didn’t think, just felt, just followed the impulse, surely Force-born, to lean forward and press his lips to Obi-Wan’s forehead, and then rest his own brow against that same spot.

Obi-Wan didn’t move away. He leaned into the touch, amusement becoming something like contentment and more, warm in Qui-Gon’s mind, breath warm against Qui-Gon's face.

How much? How very much did Qui-Gon already care for this man, this weary, radiant, Force-lit soul who was at last _here_ , a physically real part of Qui-Gon's life?

Far, far more than the Council was going to approve of, most assuredly.

Well, the Council could go and stick its collective head in the nearest garbage atomizer.

“How long since you’ve slept?” Qui-Gon murmured at last.

“Isn’t that why you sent me to bed?” Obi-Wan asked, very dry.

“Slept _well_.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan sighed, his contentment fading and exhaustion taking over. “Years? Since I “woke up” here, not often. I – dream.”

Which Qui-Gon had suspected, the disturbances quite clear over the short distance between the Skywalkers’ hovel and the tiny slave one-room where Qui-Gon was sleeping and nominally living. “Then that is where I begin. Lay back now.”

“Begin what?” Obi-Wan leaned back to look at him.

“Begin helping, Padawan; pay attention.” Qui-Gon gently pushed Obi-Wan down against the mattress. “We're going to start, with your permission, with your getting more than a few hours of good rest.”

“Of course you have it, but Force-suggestion, Qui-Gon, ’m not receptive to that. Now. Anymore.”

Qui-Gon looked his question. Obi-Wan didn’t fumble his words like that unless he was far too tired.

“Too many years of shielding too hard during the, the war, and more years after that, when I couldn’t afford to be noticed. I’m – a bit resistant.”

 _Perhaps not as much as you think, dear one._ “It’s been tried?”

A slow head-shake, a sliver of light blinking off of Obi-Wan's earring. “Anakin offered, when he realized that I wasn’t just waking up early, as I had when we were – were before, but I … ” A breath. “His control isn't that good now. Yet.”

 _No, that's not why,_ _or_ _not completely_ , Qui-Gon thought, but kept that suspicion locked behind his innermost shields. “Will you trust me to try?”

“Try? Did you say that? I c’n feel Yoda's stick from here,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon had to smile. “Trust you, Master.”

“Then close your eyes, Padawan, and sleep,” Qui-Gon rumbled, and ran two fingers along Obi-Wan's right-side braid, smoothing it against the pillow. “We have _grossol_ _s_ to sell tomorrow, and we'll want all your refined bargaining skills at full strength. Sleep now, and dream only peacefully. _Sleep_.”

He had to push harder than he'd anticipated and much more than he ever wanted to on a friend, but finally Obi-Wan slipped under with a sudden twitch. A deep breath right down to his diaphragm, and his head turned loosely, signals that told Qui-Gon that his apprentice was, indeed, finally asleep.

Qui-Gon watched him, Force-sight still making up for the lack of illumination. The slack peacefulness of Obi-Wan's face and body, the relaxing of his Force-presence in slumber, only made screamingly obvious the stress and restraint of his waking hours.

Obi-Wan needed to be away from this hellhole. Shmi and Anakin needed to be away and free and they all needed to be safe, sheltered in the protecting heart of the Temple.

“We'll be going home soon, Padawan,” Qui-Gon murmured. The rightness of the thought was a steady thrum, a warm arm around the back. “By the Force, I will bring you _all_ of you home.”

 

*

 

He watched over Obi-Wan the rest of the day and into the night, renewing the command to sleep several times when he sensed Obi-Wan drifting towards consciousness, and staying alert for any signs of unpleasant dreams.

“He's gonna be mad at you, y'know.”

Anakin's quiet voice reached him a moment before the boy himself did, coming to stand next to Qui-Gon's chair and stare at their point of mutual interest.

“For keeping him asleep?” Qui-Gon asked. “Or for letting him miss latemeal?” And the man didn't eat enough as it was, in Qui-Gon's opinion, but he needed the rest more.

“Yes,” Anakin said. “But more for the sleep. He'll do everything for everybody but he hates it when somebody does for him.”

“Service before self,” Qui-Gon murmured.

“Made it hard to live with him sometimes,” Anakin said, as though he hadn't heard. “He'd give and he'd give and he'd give … I looked up to him so much. He's the Jedi I wanted, want, to be. He cares about everybody in that great big way, but I was never sure … All I wanted was a little of that caring for me, just a little.”

“He does care for you, Anakin, very much.”

“I know that. Now.” Anakin swallowed. “But it was – everybody at a distance, he wouldn't let anybody close. Yeah, no attachment and all that, but … He'd never let anybody care about him. He doesn't want it.”

“I don't think that's it, Ani.” Shmi said softly. She joined them, the smell of the _halva_ she'd spiced the meal with wafting from her clothing, and put her hands on her son's shoulders. “It's not that he doesn't want the caring of others. He doesn't believe he deserves it.”

Startled, Qui-Gon looked at her.

Anakin made a sharp sound, quickly cut off when Obi-Wan stirred, and turned around to stare up at his mother with wide eyes. He managed to hold back, though, until the three of them had moved back into the main room and gathered around the table, before he leaned toward Shmi. “Say that again.”

“He doesn’t believe he deserves love.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” Anakin whispered.

“Although he wants it very badly, I think,” Shmi said. “But he can’t accept it, so he keeps others away. And I don’t think he realizes that.”

Something heavy and sharp-edged was pressing on Qui-Gon's chest. “Shmi, what has he said to you?”

“He hasn't, really.” Shmi shook her head, her expression grave and her dark eyes too knowing. “But he has the eyes of a being who has lost everyone he ever loved because he was not good enough. Because he failed. And he is terrified of it happening again, so he pushes away from being close even as he wants to be closer.”

“How can you know this?”

She smiled, sadly. “I’ve seen the like in slaves who have been convinced, whether by owners or from within themselves, that their enslavement is their own fault.”

“Mom?” Anakin said unsteadily, his upset flaring in the Force, and Shmi put her arm around her son’s shoulders and pulled him close.

Sound startled into the room, and it took Qui-Gon a moment to recognize the soft warble as his commlink. He hadn’t touched it since Micah Giiett had left, how long ago now?

It took another few moments to discover which belt pouch he’d buried the thing in. “Jinn.”

“Master Jinn.” Tinny and staticky, but definitely Micah Giiett. “Not been sand-blasted away yet, I take it?”

“Not yet, no. Hello, Master Giiett,” Qui-Gon answered, and noted the brightening of Shmi’s eyes. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You’d have heard it sooner if you’d have, oh, checked in, perhaps? That commlink you’ve got does transmit both ways. Can we put this on visual?”

“No,” Qui-Gon replied. “If I had enough range to reach ‘home’, I might have done so. You’re quite faint as it is. And the local public comm stations here are – public, so it's good that you’ve chosen to make contact.”

“Yes, you’re fine,” Micah said, the dryness obvious even through the awful reception. “How is your current project?”

Qui-Gon met Anakin’s gaze across the table. “Wonderful. Challenging. Unsettling at times, but so very clearly the Will of the Force.” He smiled, and Anakin broke into a grin in response. “Tell the Council that this is the most important thing I’ve ever done.”

A much heavier bout of static, before, “ – have the chance to make your case. We’ll see you in about two days. Force be with you, Qui-Gon. Giiett out.”

“And you, Micah,” Qui-Gon murmured to the now silent commlink.

“They weren’t calling from the Core,” Anakin said, “if they’re only two days away.”

“No indeed.” Qui-Gon laid the commlink on the table. “But I wonder about the passenger list. Micah said ‘we’.”

“We’ll find out in two days,” Obi-Wan said from somewhere behind him.

Qui-Gon turned, and only barely kept his jaw from dropping.

“Assuming that I’ll be awake for that, of course,” Obi-Wan continued pleasantly, his shoulder propped against the bedroom doorway.

Anakin snickered. “Told you he’d be mad.”

Qui-Gon heard the child, but distantly, through the whip-shock of realization. Instinct had snapped his shields up a fraction of a second after he'd turned, but behind them, in his own mind –

Naked to the waist, sleep-rumpled and bed-headed, his body one sinuous curve – _everything_ about Obi-Wan damn near screamed to be put right back down into the sheets, except for the irritated glint in his eyes.

Oh. Oh, gods. Oh, sweet eternal _Force_.

Obi-Wan was his padawan. His _padawan_ , dammit.

And a man nearly full-grown, and sexy as hell.

 

* * *


	8. Doing Business, Old And New

 

 

“And where did _you_ find _these?_ ”

The subtle accusation rang loud as a shout, but Obi-Wan didn't turn a hair that Qui-Gon could sense. “I'd be as dumb as you think I am to tell you that, wouldn't I?” Obi-Wan retorted. “They're not stolen, Theb. I found them and dug them up with these two hands, just me myself.”

“And you want to sell them.”

“Don't do me much good otherwise, now do they?” Obi-Wan's tone was finely balanced between “sass” and “insulting,” his accent the flatter one Qui-Gon thought of as “Ben's.” “I heard you're the one to come to for this.”

“Who said that?” Theb Kareanu watched Obi-Wan with reddish brown eyes and a complete non-expression. The effect was disconcerting next to his pale green skin, a result the Twi’lek trader was surely more than aware of. The office they were in was disconcerting as well, or probably would be to a Tatoo native, with its excess of wood and Ryloth incense.

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “Shmi Skywalker. Word is, out of everybody in this town, you'd be pretty fair about it.”

“Fair.” Theb snorted, and his lekku twitched. “Really. At least she didn't call me honest.”

She had, actually, but Qui-Gon kept that to himself.

“You'd have the credits back in circulation in a week. I might as well pay 'em directly to the spicers.”

Obi-Wan straightened. “I won't. I got other plans for it, better plans. I've swept out the house and bought a brand-new sand mat.”

Theb's lekku shifted again, in a gesture that expressed patent disbelief. “Sure you did. You were a spice-head long before you staggered into this town, Lars.”

“Yeah, well.” Obi-Wan settled his shoulders. “Sometimes people change, even on this godsforsaken rock.”

“And you did? What happened? Had a vision?”

Obi-Wan's amusement was plain in the Force. “Something like that. Look, Theb.” Obi-Wan leaned forward and Qui-Gon felt something else now. A tiny shift, like a fine pressure … “Shmi and her kid have done – they've, they rescued me, alright? I wanna rescue them. I want to get enough money to buy them free.”

The Twi'lek blinked. “Freedom is a good goal,” he said slowly, and blinked again.

Had Obi-Wan just –?

Yes. Yes, he had; as finely-tuned an application of Force suggestion as Qui-Gon had ever witnessed, and Qui-Gon couldn't help the tiny feeling of pride over his student’s skill.

The other feelings – the inappropriate ones, the ones that had run him last night and lit his body up in a way he’d not been caught by in years – those had been let go, released to the Force. And would be released again, and again and as many times as it took, no matter how it might make Qui-Gon ache inside.

Obi-Wan was his _student_ , and so Qui-Gon would not think, he would not even allow himself to _imagine_. The master-padawan relationship was inviolate – _it had to be._ There was no other way.

“It’s the best goal,” Obi-Wan said, soft and intent. “So you’re going to buy these from me at a good price,” and Qui-Gon saw the motion this time, the slow flick of Obi-Wan’s fingers, perfectly disguised as a gesture at the _grossol_ crystals lying on the table between he and Theb.

The trader narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I’m going to buy them, if they’re any good,” he said, producing a single-lens magnifier and picking up the largest of the stones.

“They’re good,” Obi-Wan said. His voice had the brash edge of someone willing reality to fall in line with hope, but his Force-presence was serene. “You’ll see.”

 _~How good are they?_ _~_ Qui-Gon asked.

 _~Very,~_ Obi-Wan sent back, radiating perfect confidence. _~The large_ _st_ _one in particular,_ _that_ _could be used as_ _a_ _‘sabre crystal_ _with a little careful cutting,_ _same as the ones we held back_ _. But all of_ _them, save two of the smaller, are at least low gem quality.~_

 _~An_ _d to think,_ _~_ Qui-Gon mused, _~_ _if I had not given you the riverstone all those years ago …_ ~

Obi-Wan’s mind laughter brightened the Force around them. _~_ _Mysterious are the_ _ways_ _of t_ _he Force, my Master.~_

 

*

 

They left Theb’s office with both Qui-Gon’s and Obi-Wan’s pouches heavier, carrying more than two-thirds the total amount Obi-Wan had figured the Skywalkers’ freedom would cost. The same Gamorean who had escorted them in showed them out again, as if either of them might actually be interested in anything beyond the building’s shadowy corners. Qui-Gon decided it was a toss-up as to which was less appealing: the hallways they walked through or their guide. It made Theb's office seem something of an oasis.

Their surly escort abandoned them in the store’s common area. Qui-Gon couldn’t say he was at all sorry. “I think we’ve done well,” he said.

“Reasonably, although I was hoping for more,” Obi-Wan agreed thoughtfully, winding his way around various beings shopping in the store’s main area, heading toward the street entrance. Gaining the exterior, he paused and aimed a quick look up at the achingly bright sky, as loathe as anything else with a brain to step out from under the awning. “We need to gain the rest very soon, though.”

“Two days.” Qui-Gon squinted against suns-light and dust. “There seems a chance of another sale, here, that soon, judging from what I felt.”

“Yes, I think so too. And if not?” Obi-Wan shrugged and pushed a lock of hair out of his face. He’d chosen not to tie it back today for some reason and the look was entrancing, a fact Qui-Gon had noted and buried deep in the space of a heartbeat. “There have to be other buyers. Even here, there’s a market for attractive merchandise.”

“Attractive merchandise indeed.”

Obi-Wan stiffened at the oily drawl, unease sloshing like dirty water before his shields tightened with a near-audible snap. Qui-Gon looked to his left.

A dark-skinned humanoid – a Kiffar, by his green facial tattoo – pushed off the wall and strolled toward them. No, not strolled. Swaggered, right into Obi-Wan’s personal space. “If you’re needing money, Ben-boy, why haven’t you come to see me? You know I’m quite willing to buy – from you.”

Obi-Wan didn’t step back, but his shoulders and spine screamed high alert, his aura thick with tension. “Because I don’t sell that anymore, Qedir,” Obi-Wan said evenly. “I’m out of that business.”

“Really.” The Kiffar’s – Qedir’s – voice oozed patent disbelief, as did his expression. “You've found another … Oh.” He looked Qui-Gon up and down as if noticing him for the first time. “S’Woodoo. Contract for exclusive service, eh?”

The man sounded, and felt, quite unimpressed, to the point that it would have been funny if Qui-Gon hadn't realized, right at that moment, just what sort of “service” was being discussed.

The surge of anger – and other things – actually fired his skin, it was so strong, before Qui-Gon released it.

Obi-Wan twitched.

“Whatever he's paying you obviously isn't enough,” Qedir said to Obi-Wan, perfectly business-like. “But if you're thinking about setting up in the area – don't,” he said, his voice and stare turning hard. “You know Gardulla don't like unauthorized operators.”

“There's no 'operation,'” Obi-Wan said tightly. What emotions were escaping his shielding were a tight roil of discomfort, embarrassment, and something far too close to shame. “I. Don't. Do. That. Now.”

Qedir's eyebrows rose, and he sighed. “And me without anything on you, either.” The man's regret felt quite real, much to Qui-Gon's disgust. “That's a shame. Because that mouth of yours, Ben-boy? Is worth something.”

“Enough,” Qui-Gon growled, judging it time to play the role he'd been assigned, in Qedir’s mind at least. One step pressed him against Obi-Wan's back and put his height and mass to good use, looming over his student's shoulder and into the Kiffar's face. “He's with me from now on. And _only_ with me.”

Dark eyes widened and a hint of actual nervousness appeared in them. “Hey, all right now,” Qedir said, backing up a few steps. “No need to get unpleasant. Just remember my name, Ben-boy, when this one decides he’s not feedin’ you anymore.” The Kiffar showed them a wide, insincere smile and moved away, melting into the street crowd.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath that Qui-Gon felt against his own chest, and he made himself step away from the younger man’s body. That same breath out and the prickle of turmoil went with it, released and given to the Force, replaced with a Master's calm. Or close enough for the moment, and the rest tightly shielded.

“We need to go, Qui,” Obi-Wan said quietly, and put action to the words. “That little encounter’s likely to get us attentions I’d much rather we didn't have.”

“He’s not following us, or intending to.” A quick reach through the Force assured Qui-Gon of that much as he matched his pace to Obi-Wan’s.

“He’s not going to keep his mouth shut, either.” Obi-Wan’s face was composed, but resigned; self-deprecating amusement drifted between them. “He’s got no reason to, and he won’t resist. Spice-head whore says he’s cleaned up, found a ‘patrone,’ even?” A chuff. “That story’s always good for a laugh in this town.”

 _Whore_.

Not self-deprecation, that, but something rather darker. “Ben,” Qui-Gon said, putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm.

Obi-Wan squinted up sideways at him and gave him a half-smile before his face squinched like something was paining him. “Do you know, I’d barely remembered doing that, until I heard his voice? There’s stretches of time that are – hazy, shall we say. I think that eventually my mechanics skills weren’t – reliable, and then I – he – sold what he had until ‘that’ was all he had left.”

“Ben.” Dammit, the street was not the place but Qui-Gon wasn't letting this go any further. _~Do_ _ **not**_ _blame, or punish, yourself for surviving.~_

Obi-Wan looked up at him again, and his blue-gray eyes seemed opaque. Flat . _~I’m not. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever done, and what would be the point? It’s_ _over_ _;_ _I can’t change it_ _. But it does put a different slant on some things.~_

That it did, including some things his student knew nothing of, Qui-Gon thought grimly, behind thick shields. Oh, that it did, indeed.

 

* * *

 


	9. Truth, Trust, And Padawans

 

 

A light tap on the windows of his mind. _~Obi-Wan._ ~

 _~_ _Qui-Gon, g_ _ood morning_ _._ ~ Obi-Wan set the mostly-dead speeder booster he'd been fiddling with down on the work-counter in the junk shop, carefully hiding his sense of relief.

He’d not seen Qui-Gon before dawn today, for the first time since they had begun their morning work-outs. Obi-Wan's habitual mental query had been met with a gentle greeting but no thinning of shields, a sense of unsettledness, and a quiet request for time to meditate.

Which was – not worrying, really, but saddening and hopeful.  At the same time.

Something had shifted yesterday after they – after he – had been confronted by Qedir.

Little question as to what, of course.

It wasn’t, precisely, the fact of him having been reduced to selling his own body.  Obi-Wan had never known something like that to tarnish Qui-Gon’s view of a being then, and he'd seen no sign that it would now.

But it had made Qui-Gon _aware_ of Obi-Wan, of Obi-Wan’s body, in a way his teacher hadn’t been before.  And while the easy, intimate physicality of these last weeks would inevitably lessen, the very loss was a signal of that awareness of Obi-Wan as "sexual being" as well as "student."  And _that_ would help the potential for a door, where for a lifetime there had been only an unbreachable wall.

Oh, hope: so vital, so necessary.  So dangerous. 

And it was so utterly _Qui-Gon_ that the man’s foremost concern had been that Obi-Wan not blame himself. As if he would – Obi-Wan had gone through the same “violation” training that every field-qualified Knight did. He'd spoken nothing but truth to Qui-Gon: it had happened, it was past, and it couldn't be changed.

Although considering his current life? Perhaps he shouldn't be tempting fate and Force like that.

And the lack of work-out today had been just as well, if he was honest – Obi-Wan himself had woken with the threat of another headache, a bad one, lurking in the back of his skull. The increasing occurrence of which was getting very old, very quickly.

 _~Our expected company is arriving quite shortly,~_ Qui-Gon sent _. ~They’ve come out of hyperspace and are requesting landing clearance now.~_

Obi-Wan blinked. _~That was a quick two days.~_

 _~Evidently Padawan Muln_ _seeks always to improve his_ _skills.~_ Qui-Gon's mind voice was very dry, and Obi-Wan chuckled, which got him an inquiring look from Anakin.

Fortunately they two were alone in the shop. Obi-Wan gave him the gesture they used to indicate _bespeaking_ with someone else. _~He always did._ _An attitude Anakin shared,_ _actually;_ _it was my lot to be surrounded by ‘inventive’ pilots, shall we say?~_

Qui-Gon’s amusement swirled through the bond, rich and warm. His master always had laughed more easily in the Force than out loud. _~_ _You know Garen Muln,_ _then_ _?~_

 _~Yes, I – did._ _Garen and I were crèche_ _-mates.~_ Regret; as useless now as it ever was. Obi-Wan released it in the space of a heartbeat.

 _~Then you will be_ _friends_ _again,~_ Qui-Gon sent serenely, not a shade of doubt in word or emotion. _~_ _From things Micah has not said,_ _I believe Garen has many acquaintances, but few_ _deep_ _friends_ _hips_ _._ _He will welcome yours_ _.~_

Oh, Force Will that be so. _~Perhaps,_ _if – ~_

 _~_ _Please d_ _on't make me quote Yoda_ _at you_ _just_ _now_ _, Padawan._ ~ Qui-Gon's tone was drier than before, if that was possible, and Obi-Wan actually had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his laughter in.

_~Of course not, Master. Let me know when they have clearance? You know, they should have just snuck in like everyone else does and saved the time and the official bribes.~_

_~Micah said something similar, but he was … ah. E-Corp Bays, south-east quadrant, herf eighty-five.~_

_~Halfway across town, of course.~_

_~Not a bad thing, since I deprived you of your morning work-out. You have time, though; Micah believes it will be another three-quarters of an hour before the docking bay becomes 'available.'~_

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. ~ _I'll meet you there, then, shall I? And – I'm glad to hear you, Qui-Gon.~_

A feeling of warmth like a hug around Obi-Wan's shoulders, and Qui-Gon re-shielded his end of the bond. Obi-Wan took a deep breath.

How many times “before,” in the dead of night usually, with no-one but himself to shake a finger at him, had he given in and longed for a day, an hour, just _five_ _minutes_ of Qui-Gon close again, in mind and in flesh? And he had had the mind, at least; had Qui-Gon's Force presence in those last precious months on Tatooine before the droids had arrived, but not like this.

To have Qui-Gon now, like _this_ – not only that, but to have had nearly _all_ of him for this pocket of time –

No Temple restraints, no Republic demands. Just Qui-Gon Jinn, shining steady in Obi-Wan's existence like a star rekindled, a lost piece of sun returned: light and life restored to places in him so cold for so long that Obi-Wan had very nearly forgotten they could actually be warm.

“Somethin' happen?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan blinked. “Out of town guests.”

Anakin tilted his head, then his eyes widened as Obi-Wan's meaning hit. “Now? But we're not ready!” he whisper-hissed.

And that was true, they were still quite short on credits, but … “All will be well, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“You mean we'll … ” Anakin gestured in lieu of what shouldn't be said out loud, even alone as they seemed to be.

“I don't know,” Obi-Wan said, caught up in the dawning of a hard-missed inner certainty. It was some of the clearest guidance he'd had from the Force since he'd “woken up.” “I don't know,” he said again, meeting Anakin's gaze. “But it will be all right.”

Anakin studied him. “You feel it, don't you? Like you used to?” At Obi-Wan's look, he shrugged. “Well, 'cause, I don't think you have been – feeling things, really, since – you know.”

“You're – very perceptive.”

Anakin made a face, half-sheepish and half something else. “You're – more open than you were, before. Partly it's you're lettin' me in and partly it's … ”

 _~ … that I am 'injured' and not yet recovered._ _Damaged._ _~_

Damaged, Kenobi – say it. Admit it, own it, and release it, or it will own you.

“Well, that, and … ” Anakin's mouth twisted. _~Maybe you're trusting me more, this time._ ~

 _~Trusting! Anakin, I –!~_ And stopped dead as the words shifted, inverted – and the world slid sideways.

Obi-Wan had come to trust Anakin with his life.

His heart had been another matter entirely.

His heart had shattered when Qui-Gon had first cast him aside and then died on him, and Obi-Wan had never fully trusted another with the cracked remains. His outward serenity had fooled his Jedi family for years, unknowing as they were of what true emotional trust looked like; it had fooled everyone, including Obi-Wan himself.

But Anakin, as he'd told Obi-Wan on that bitter afternoon a life-time ago, had had a mother who'd loved him, and whom he'd loved deeply in return.

Anakin knew the difference.

“Ben?”

Obi-Wan twitched and found Anakin in front of him, one hand over his, watching him closely, his own gaze a touch guilty and a little alarmed. _~Master, you feel like you just caught a staff to the back of the knee_ _s_ _._ ~

 _~And we both know that feeling._ ~ Obi-Wan looked at him, using their bond because he didn't have the air for words. _~Anakin, you're right. You're_ _ **right**_ _, and I've only just – I didn't know. I, I never thought of it as trust. But after he died, I couldn't trust anyone that way, and I never understood that. But you_ _ **did**_ _know_ _, on some level you did, and when I couldn't give you what you needed, that trust, you took it when it was offered – elsewhere.~_

He squeezed his eyes shut. _~I'm sorry, Padawan._ ~

 _~_ _ **No**_ _.~_ Anakin's grip tightened, and the sudden flood of grief and deep, bitter regret snapped Obi-Wan's eyes open even as it took his breath away again.

 _~No,_ _Obi-Wan,_ _it's_ _**me** _ _who should be apologizing. Because whatever I needed, what I thought I needed, wasn't any excuse for what I –_ _I think_ _did. I knew, if I was honest, that I had your heart – that you couldn't give it to me in the way I wanted it wasn't your fault._ _I didn't tell you – what I needed, what I was afraid of – because I_ _'d convinced_ _myself you wouldn't understand, so I never gave you the chance,_ _and that got all tangled up with Master Qui-Gon’s death –_ _~_

Anakin sucked in a ragged breath. _~_ _I_ _couldn't forgive you for not being something_ _you couldn't have been and that_ _I never gave_ _you_ _the chance to_ _even really try_ _to be_ _.~_

 _~_ _ **Anakin**_ _._ ~

They ended up sitting on the floor next to the counter somehow, with Anakin in Obi-Wan's lap, messy blond hair tucked under Obi-Wan's chin. Which might be awkward if Watto or someone else walked in on them, but Obi-Wan truly did not give a Sithly damn. He blocked out everything but his padawan and rocked him, rocked them both, very gently, for what felt like a long time.

“Y'know,” Anakin muttered, eventually, “ 'r doing more huggin’ now than we did in a lifetime, that I 'member, anyway.”

“We are making up for everything we missed the first time around,” Obi-Wan murmured. “You'll just have to suffer through, somehow.”

“ 'kay,” Anakin whispered, and huddled closer.

 

*

 

The only thing that made docking bay herf eighty-five any different from its dilapidated neighbors was Qui-Gon, leaning casually against the wall just inside the entrance. He straightened to his full height at Obi-Wan's and Anakin's approach, and the brutal suns-light flashed his hair and beard with silver.

_Tall, lean, scarred, and so beautiful._

Obi-Wan cradled the feeling for a moment, let it warm and tingle through him. Then he let it go.

“Both of you; good,” Qui-Gon said briskly as they drew even with him. “They landed some minutes ago. Shall we go and say hello, together?”

Now that was interesting. Qui-Gon was – not uneasy, precisely, but – something. “Do we know who the other passenger is?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Not whom I might have expected,” Qui-Gon said, as they rounded the corner and came into the landing bay flat proper, their steps kicking up Tatooine’s eternal dust. “But perhaps who I should've.”

“Yeah, now I'm not worried at all,” Anakin said, craning his head to look up at Qui-Gon. “Who is it?”

“Master Billaba.”

“Huh?” Anakin said, eyebrows going up.

“Depa?” Obi-Wan said at the same time. “You're right; not whom I would have expected either.” He shot a glance at Qui-Gon's profile and then back at the ship, a _Zeta_ -class long range shuttle this time. Of all the beings … “Why her?”

Micah appeared at the top of the ramp and started down. Anakin picked up his pace.

“Mace,” Qui-Gon said, with absolutely no inflection.

 _Oh._ Of course. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to drag his hand down the beard he didn't have. Mace Windu, current Master of the Order. Depa Billaba had been his padawan.

Micah met them just past the end of the ramp. “Qui-Gon,” he said, greeting his friend with a slight bow and a brief clasp to the arm – that's right, they were friends, weren't they? Long-time friends, even as Obi-Wan and Garen were. Had been. But “his” Qui-Gon had seldom mentioned Master Giiett before the Yinchorri debacle and almost never after the man had been killed, and Obi-Wan hadn't asked this Qui-Gon about him, here. Why?

“Obi-Wan.”

Micah offered him a more formal bow, which Obi-Wan returned, not the full deep one of a padawan, but the respectful bob of a knight to a master. “Master Giiett.”

Micah's forest-brown eyes gleamed. “You're looking better, Padawan,” and Obi-Wan felt the soft brush of Qui-Gon's satisfaction. “As are you, Anakin. It appears that life with Master Jinn is agreeing with you both.”

“It always has,” Obi-Wan said, not quite solemnly.

Micah almost smiled. “Indeed.”

Motion, and Obi-Wan looked up. His breath caught.

The woman walking down the ramp had light tan skin and large, warm brown eyes in a strong, lovely face, and black hair looped back in simple braids. She wore one of the many variations of the beige and brown clothing common to Jedi Masters, and on her forehead and between her eyes were set two small, gold-toned jewels that shone softly in the suns-light.

She looked – and felt, in the Force – almost exactly as Obi-Wan remembered her from the days before the Clone Wars.

Not so, the tall young man behind her. He looked the same, hair a few shades darker than Obi-Wan’s own, wearing a messy combination of padawan tunics and pilot’s jacket, the hilt of a lightsabre just visible below the jacket’s hem. Broad-shouldered and lanky now, but that body would fill out and soon, Obi-Wan knew. But his eyes were guarded, and he felt – different. A little harder, not quite Obi-Wan's laughing, good-natured crèche-mate.

Images tumbled over themselves in his mind’s eye until Obi-Wan almost had to blink to clear them. But his control was firm again in the few moments it took for the two reach the bottom of the ramp and stop.

Depa Billaba nodded to Qui-Gon, full mouth curved in her customary faint smile, before her attention focused on Obi-Wan. Garen Muln, on the other hand, was rather frankly staring, which very nearly made Obi-Wan smile.

 _Oh, Gar,_ _w_ _hat happened to you?_ _I_ _'ve_ _missed you. I_ _'ve_ _missed both of you_.

There was just enough give in his sleeves for Obi-Wan to slip his hands in up to his elbows, and he made a proper bow. “Master Billaba, and Padawan Muln. It is very, very good to see you both.”

Depa's eyebrows rose just a shade, and her mind pressed with great delicacy at the edges of his shields. Those dark brows kicked up high this time, and her gaze shot back to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon's satisfaction – his _joy_ – was a warm blanket on a cold night. “Master Billaba, Padawan Muln,” he rumbled, and both those big hands landed on Obi-Wan's shoulders as though the man were –

Claiming him. In front of the Council, with joy and yes, affection, and firm, eager intent. The way it should always have been.

“It is one of the greatest delights and honors of my life,” Qui-Gon said, squeezing Obi-Wan’s shoulders, “to introduce you both to Obi-Wan Kenobi, my padawan.”

 

** *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannd that's it for this story, folks :-) Obi-Wan has been well, truly and firmly claimed this time, which starts to heal an almost forgotten wound. But it's only the beginning.
> 
> The next story is "Coin In Hand," wherein our merry crewe finally get the actual flock off Tatooine.

**Author's Note:**

> The direct sequel to "With My Soul Clenched." This may not make a whole load of sense if you've not read that story first. This story is complete and being polished, and will be posted in chapters as the on-going editing is finished. No schedule or anything like that, because I'm just not that organized.
> 
> Forever and always thanks to culturevulture73 (because it really is still your fault) and sanerontheinside for idea-swopping, reading, poking, and listening to me ramble.
> 
> Edited 11/28/17 Now with a link to the INCREDIBLY AWESOME ART and I am SCREAMING I am so delighted! Go holler at DraloreShimare about how wonderful it looks!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hard Thought](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12849090) by [DraloreShimare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraloreShimare/pseuds/DraloreShimare)




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